Master?
by where's-waldo-15
Summary: Peter finds Neal in a very dire situation - he's about to die. But then when Neal wakes up, he calls Peter "Master" - as though he's Peter's slave. Can Peter try to bring him back to his former life and reality? He's certainly going to try. Rated M for sexual situations NOW COMPLETE! :)
1. Chapter 1

He knelt on the ground in front of his master, eyes downcast and submissive. His body was clean, his hair combed, and he was dressed in a nice suit and tie - the kind he would've worn in a previous life. But he didn't notice. He didn't care. He just felt...empty.

He didn't know how long he had been with his master now. Maybe a month, maybe ten years. He didn't keep track anymore - what was the point? He wasn't looking forward to anything; there was nothing in the world left for him.

His master had ground this into him from Day 1, and through lots of...not-so-humane methods, he had learned to accept it. He was nothing. His master was everything. He served his master willingly, doing whatever he said, even as something niggled in the back of his mind, telling him that what he was doing was wrong. Now the niggling had faded away, and he was left...empty. There was nothing there - no feeling, no life, no snarky comments.

He stood when his master placed a hand on his shoulder, but he still kept his eyes downward, showing respect.

However, this time his master tilted his face upward to look into his cold, dark eyes.

"Today will be different," he said with almost solemnity. "I feel that I have no use for you anymore."

The boy nodded, expression blank. Then, his master reached into his pocket and pulled out a small jar with several holes in the lid. Inside the jar was a large honey bee, flitting around angrily, trying to escape from its prison.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" his master purred, shaking the jar a little as he saw that his trained slave still kept his expression blank, uncaring.

"One little sting with this bee, and the bee dies." his master continued, studying the bee inside. "I know also that one little sting, and without an EpiPen, _you _die, too."

He was amazed by the blank expression on the boy's face, as though he didn't even care that he was obviously about to be stung by the deadly little insect by his master.

And truly, the boy didn't care. Not anymore. Once, in a time that seemed to be in a whole other life, he vaguely remembered being stung, on a terrace maybe, overlooking a bright city. A kind old lady had found him and he'd gotten the injection in the nick of time. He remembered his fear of dying then, but not now. He had nothing left to live for, so why fight?

His master was a little disappointed by the young slave's lack of response, but he continued anyway.

"Aren't you even a little afraid, boy?"

It was deathly silent as both waited for the response. Then the boy whispered humbly, "No."

So the master sighed and then gave the his final instructions, the ones that would lead to his death.

Giving the jar to the boy, he said, "After I leave the room, shake the jar, and then remove the lid. Let the bee sting you, and then you will be free."

After a moment, the boy nodded and wrapped his hands around the jar.

As the master left the room, he knew that his slave would do it. He was loyal, and he would follow through on his orders, down to his very last dying breath.

The young slave watched as his master closed the door behind him. He would obey. He had to. He would be loyal to his master, all the way to the end.

He looked down at the jar. After shaking it rather violently, he unscrewed the lid.

He felt the sting on top of his hand, and dropped the glass jar on the ground. It didn't shatter, just a little piece chipped off of it. He heard the clatter of the metal lid falling to the hard wood floor as though it was from a far distance, and as though in slow motion, he crashed to the ground, legs suddenly weak. It was getting harder to breathe. He felt lightheaded, dizzy. He blinked, and it seemed to take longer than it was supposed to, harder than it usually was, to open them back up. He glanced down at his hand. It was blurry, but he noticed that his hand was clenched tightly, puffy as it was. He became vaguely aware that it was clenched around something, but he couldn't remember what it was.

He felt strangely peaceful, fearless, as the black spots started to cloud his vision.

No one was going to save him, but he was okay with that. He was okay with dying. No one would have to deal with him anymore, all of his hair-brained cons or snarky comments or irritating fedoras and Devore suits. No one would notice his absence, except maybe the odd little man with glasses, but he would soon move on. The world would go on, and there would be one less Neal Caffrey in the world.

Then, as though from a far distance, he heard banging and shouting. One voice, one familiar voice, rang out among all of the voices, and it made something come back to Neal as the voice shouted:

"FBI!"

And then Neal stopped breathing.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a year. A whole year since Neal's sudden disappearance. Peter had searched, from the beginning, and had never lost hope. He had to find Neal. He would spend all of his hours working to find the CI, his partner and best friend. Although annoying even on his best days, Peter missed the ex-con, his designer clothes, his sarcastic comments, his vibrant personality, his value of life. He missed having Neal make fun of his classic suits.

Most had believed that Neal had run. And who, without _really _knowing him, would think otherwise? He'd been off anklet for the case he and Peter had been working on, and once it had been wrapped up, he'd disappeared. Unlike the time after the Lindsey Glenn case, he had never come back to Peter to get his anklet put back on. Peter had gone to find Alex, thinking that she might be the reason for this, but she had a solid alibi in Thailand at the time.

Then he'd gone to look for Mozzie. He'd found Mozzie waiting at Neal's apartment and drinking Neal's fine wine, and it had been immediately and abundantly clear that Mozzie had no idea that Neal was missing.

Peter knew that Neal would never leave without at least telling Mozzie, let alone leaving without him, and he'd tried to explain that to the higher-ups who came to question him, but they didn't believe him. This was probably due to the fact that Peter evaded the topic of _who _Mozzie was, but still. He would never leave without his best friend.

And Peter was certain that Neal would never leave without at least dropping a few hints that would clue him in on Neal's intentions. But Neal hadn't left any hints or clues - nothing. He'd just vanished.

So Peter, sure that Neal was in trouble, searched in vain for anything that would lead him to Neal's whereabouts. His team had helped him a lot at first, staying on weekends and working overtime to find the boy who had planted himself so firmly into all of their hearts. But after a few months, it was clear that they didn't believe that it had been foul play that made Neal disappear. They searched, as it was Peter's wish, but they often looked at him with pity as they did so. After all, after they found Neal, he would be going straight back to prison, because he must've run. There had been a warrant out for his arrest ever since the third week after the case. None of them wanted Neal back in prison, so they didn't want to find him. But they tried, for Peter's sake, just in case Peter was right.

And after a year of Neal's disappearance, Peter had found that he _was _right. As he drove up to the one-story villa at the edge of New York State, he couldn't even fully remember now _how _he had figured out that Neal was here. But that didn't matter. They'd gotten the evidence and the warrant had been issued, and as soon as the warrant had gotten through, Peter had rallied his team and taken off.

Peter pulled himself together as the team got out of the cars and started storming into the house, guns drawn and ready.

As soon as Peter got inside, he shouted over all of the other voices, "FBI!"

They arrested several of the men with little struggle, and Peter was satisfacted when he saw the apparent leader, a man he didn't quite recognize, being arrested and read his rights. But then he looked around. Someone was missing.

Peter stormed up to the sick bastard in charge and said, "Where is he? Where is my best friend?"

The man just smiled, cold and creepy yet still eerily peaceful. "He is at peace now."

Without a thought, Peter reached out and struck the man's face with the butt of the gun. One of the agents moved to stop him, but Diana Berrigan held him back. Peter hardly noticed as he roared, "Tell me where he is, you fucking little son of a bitch!"

The man glared up at him as blood dripped down his face from the cut in his temple. Then, without a word, he nodded to the door behind him, one that oddly none of the agents had kicked open.

Without another moment's thought, Peter turned and shoved the door open, sure that he would find Neal tied up in a chair and beaten to a bloody pulp.

Instead, he saw no one. The room was empty, save for a desk and a furniture set.

But then Agent Jones, who had followed him in, said softly, "Peter."

Hearing the tone in his friend's voice, Peter quickly looked to him and found him standing on the other side of the coffee table. And it was then that Peter noticed the still, silent form of his best friend.

Peter rushed over, and saw that Neal was almost unrecognisable. His entire body was swollen, though there were no bruises. He was completely still, and there was no telltale rise and fall of his chest to show that he was breathing.

"It was a bee sting," Jones said. "We all know Neal's allergic. I guess the guy out there knew that, too."

Suddenly weak-kneed, Peter fell to the ground, kneeling beside Neal's head.

"He's gone," Peter whispered, so in shock that he didn't even shed a tear. His brain just couldn't comprehend the fact that he would never see Neal's engaging smile again.

"I'm sorry, Peter," Jones said solemnly. "We were too late."

Then Peter realized something.

"No," he said suddenly, putting his hands in the pockets of his suit, looking for something. "This is a bee sting, and he's still swollen. If...if he was dead, his body would've shut down, and the swelling would be going down. He's not dead yet...shit, where is the goddamn EpiPen?!"

Then Peter found it in another pocket of his, and without hesitation, he took the cap off and stuck it in Neal's thigh, pushing the syringe down. He pulled the needle out and put it on the coffee table, watching Neal's face intently.

Neal's expression was blank, but the swelling went down substantially, showing that Neal's body was indeed functioning, albeit a little slowly. After what seemed like too long to Peter with no response from Neal, he started to wonder if Neal was going to pull through it. Even as the swelling was completely gone, Neal didn't wake up.

Immediately Peter began CPR, compressing Neal's chest several times. As he did so, Jones tilted Neal's head back, plugged his nose, and breathed air into Neal's lungs. After a couple of times of this, they switched so that neither would get tired or dizzy.

Then, when Peter was about to give up, Neal gasped in by himself, his body stiffening for a moment as he involuntarily lifted his head.

"Neal," Peter almost cried with relief.

It was a moment before Neal responded, though what he said shook Peter to the core.

"Master," he wheezed, his eyes only partially open. "You said that I was supposed to let it sting me. Why would you save me? I was supposed to be free."

"You _are _free, Neal," Jones said, seeing that Peter was now incapable of forming words.

Neal took in a shuddering breath and whispered, "Then why don't I _feel _free?"

Then, before either of them could respond to Neal's weighted question, Neal laid his head back and lost consciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter sat beside the hospital bed, listening to the steady beeping of the heart monitor as it counted Neal's beats.

He stared at Neal's face, as though he couldn't get enough of it. He was like a blind man seeing color for the first time, but there was something dark about Neal's face. It was almost...dead. There was no life behind it. He'd seen Neal unconscious in the hospital before, and there had always been the underlying snarkiness there, even in sleep. But now he was just...empty. There was no life, no vibrancy, in Neal's face, and Peter didn't know why. What had happened in the past year that would strip Neal of his very identity, his very being?

Peter mulled over Neal's last words before he passed out. Why had Neal called him "Master"? Yes, he'd always wanted Neal to treat him with a little more respect, but the way Neal had addressed him was like that of a slave to his slavemaster. In fact, it was _exactly _like that. And it was clear by Neal's words that he had let that bee sting him, knowing that it would lead to his imminent death, but he hadn't cared. In fact, he'd _wanted _it. After Neal had passed out, they had found inside Neal's deathgrip was a honey bee, the stinger gone and now crushed from Neal's hand. Neal had basically tried to commit suicide, and if Peter and his team hadn't gotten there when they did...

Peter shuddered to think about it.

Peter was brought out of his thoughts by the sudden rise in Neal's heartbeats. The monitor began beeping erratically, and Peter quickly took hold of Neal's hand. Neal tensed, seemingly subconsciously as he seemed to still be asleep.

"Neal, if you can hear me, calm down. It's Peter. You're free. You're _safe_."

After a moment, Neal's heartbeat slowed and went back to normal, and Neal's whole body seemed to relax, apparently going back into blissful sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Alright, sorry for the moderately long wait, but I got this one up, didn't I? And it's a longer chapter, so that's good…I realized only after I posted chapter 3 that it was super short, but considering that I put the first three chapters up one after another, I think you guys can forgive me for that, right?**

**Also, because I was so rushed and excited to get the first three chapters up, I forgot to thank Amory Sparkly Bat, because of her story "Vice Collar" – it's the only White Collar story that I could find that depicted Neal as a slave, and I really just wanted to add my own two cents of a Neal-slave story. So for anyone who has read that story, you might notice that a lot of things will probably be very similar between the two stories, but I'm not stealing.**

**For anyone who hasn't read her story, go check it out! It's rated M, so it's a little graphic and has language (not like mine), but I really love it! Seriously – that is a TALENTED author, right there! She really knows how to keep me up reading her story – I swear I've read it like, 5 times, and it's not even done!**

**Anyhoo, I just wanted to say thanks to her, and that this story is mostly dedicated to her story. So…enjoy! :)**

**~WC~**

"Is he okay - _really_?"

"Physically, yes. Hon, you'd have to see it for yourself." Peter sighed and rubbed his face as he glanced over to Neal sitting on the hospital bed and looking straight ahead blankly. He'd been much like this after he had woken up the day before. Even as Peter tried to engage him in conversation, Neal had responded with short answers, eyes always downcast.

"I know." El said from the other end of the phone. "I want to be there, really, but the plane is being held up, and waiting for the plane to fly me back from San Francisco would be faster than driving. I should be there sometime late tonight or tomorrow morning, though. You and Neal can have a guy's night."

"Yeah, I'm taking him back home so that I can keep an eye on him. Seriously, El, I think something is wrong with his brain. That - that _bastard _did something that's making Neal act this way, but physically, he's fine. Not even a bruise."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out, hon." El sounded sympathetic, but she still wasn't quite sure what Peter was trying to describe.

"I'll see you later. Love you, hon."

"You too, hon. Good luck."

Peter hung up, put the phone into his pocket, and then after a pause, went over to the hospital bed to face Neal.

"Hey," he said a little awkwardly, and then wasn't too surprised when Neal bowed his head in acknowledgement, and then went back to staring ahead blankly. He'd done it before.

"We're going to go to my place for the night," Peter continued, trying to ignore Neal's odd behavior. "El had an event in San Francisco, but she should be back by tomorrow morning. I already checked you out - are you ready to bust this joint?"

After a pause, Neal nodded, eyes cast downward, and then continuing to look down, he climbed off of the bed and stood beside Peter, hands behind his back in submission. Still he remained silent.

The trip to the parking garage was also made in silence. They both got in the car, Peter getting in the front. He fully expected Neal to get in the passenger seat like he always did when the two of them were on a job, but no door opened. Peter glanced back and saw Neal standing at the corner of the rear bumper of the car, looking a little bewildered.

With a little sigh, Peter opened his door and got out of the car, turning and putting his forearms on the top of the car and looking over at Neal.

"Neal," he said, trying to remember to be gentle, "Get in the car."

Neal looked relieved for clear instructions for all of two seconds as he started to open the back door, but then Peter said, "No." Neal tensed a little, one hand hovering over the door handle, and then Peter said:

"Get in the front seat, for goodness sake, Neal."

Neal relaxed only slightly as he turned and opened the front passenger door. He glanced up at Peter for a moment, and Peter nodded, encouragement for Neal to get in. Then Peter got in and closed the door behind him. After a moment's pause, Neal hesitantly got in, closing the door a bit softly behind him. Peter turned on the engine and backed out of the parking space, and then drove down to the main level, out into the daylight. Still Neal said nothing.

"Neal, this is getting weird." Peter finally said as they drove down the street. "Can you please talk to me?"

"What would you like me to talk about, Master?" Neal asked quietly.

"Anything. I don't care. But you're freaking me out – you not talking. You should be complaining, telling me you want some classical music or whatever playing on the radio. You should be telling me that you want to see some new art exhibit out of your radius and giving me some story about how you deserve it after all that you've been through – not calling me fucking _Master_! I'm not your master, and you're not my little bitch boy!"

"But you are," Neal said quickly, and then shrank back a little as though expecting a blow. "I mean...forgive me for saying so, Master, but _you _got rid of Master Nicholas. By rights, I would belong to _you _now."

"But you're a human _being_, Neal," Peter said in exasperation. "You don't _belong _to anyone."

"I belong to _you_, Master."

"Well, at least don't _call _me Master," Peter said. "Call me Peter."

"But...but..." Neal looked absolutely lost, like a forgotten puppy in LA. "I'm...I'm supposed to call you by your name, Mast - P-peter?" It came out sounding like a question.

"But Peter _is _my name. You _always _called me Peter, even when I preferred Agent Burke." Peter looked just about as lost as Neal, confused by his partner's behavior.

"But...you're my master. I must be...respectful." Neal sounded confused.

"At least call me Agent Burke, _please_?" Peter pleaded, feeling that the conversation was getting weirder by the minute.

"Okay...A-agent...B-b-burke. Agent...Burke." he cast his eyes downward again, as though ashamed to call him by name.

After a moment, Peter sighed and said, "Neal, just call me whatever you feel like calling me. But you don't need to be afraid anymore, okay? You're safe now."

Neal nodded slowly. "Thank you, Master," he said, though he still sounded doubtful.

Peter sighed to himself. They would really need to work on this.

~WC~

Things proved to get even weirder when they got home from the hospital. Peter had assumed that they would grab some grub and he'd watch TV while Neal read one of El's artsy books, occasionally complaining about the noise from Peter's game. But that didn't happen. Instead, while Peter watched the game, Neal knelt on the ground beside the couch, hands folded on his lap as he stared down at them, not even looking bored. He just looked…blank. Lifeless.

Peter closed his eyes. He didn't know how to deal with this – with Neal. He'd never seen anything like it before. He wished more than ever that El was here. He was sure that she would know what to do. She just had that loving sort of nature about her that instantly put people at ease. He was sure that if she was here, Neal wouldn't be so jumpy.

_If I told him to jump, he'd ask me how high, _Peter thought a little sourly. _He really __**is**__ like my little bitch boy. But what can I really do to convince him that he's actually my partner…and best friend?_

With a little sigh, Peter used the remote to turn off the TV, and then stood and went over to Neal, crouching down in front of him. Neal seemed aware of him, but he still didn't move, head still bowed.

"Neal," Peter said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Neal, seemingly responding to an unspoken signal, immediately rose to his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. Peter stood, a bit confused by the sudden movement, but still continued, "Can we just…I don't know…talk?"

Something flickered across Neal's face, and Peter thought that it might've been fear, but it was gone so fast that he wasn't sure whether he'd actually seen it or imagined it.

"Neal…Neal, look at me." Peter finally said. Neal looked up, an unreadable look in his eyes. "Can you please just…tell me what happened when you were with Nicholas Halden?"

**~WC~**

**So…do you like that little twist with the name at the end? I did. I was trying to figure out how to end this chapter on a cliffhanger while still keeping it under 1500 words, and I just couldn't figure it out, and then this idea just hit me. Originally I was going to have his master's name be Terrence Monroe, but then I was like: …nah. I was so surprised at my devious little mind that I just came up with how to go with the storyline, because honestly, until this point, I didn't know what the plotline could really be beyond Neal "becoming human" again around Peter. So…do you like the idea? I'm not going to tell you why I picked Nicholas Halden to be his former master's name, but ooh…it's gonna be good! **

**P.S. For any of you Neanderthals out there, Nicholas Halden was one of Neal's most frequently used aliases in the TV show. Now go watch it, ya hippie. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

Neal blinked, and Peter realized that his expression seemed to completely blank out, if it was possible to get more blank than it had been previously. Then, in a voice that sounded way too mechanical, Neal answered:

"He gave me a home. He taught me how to be good. He had me work for him. I was happy."

"Bullshit, Neal!" Peter said suddenly, throwing his hands up and making Neal flinch. "You think you were _happy _there, that he was _helping _you? You tried to commit suicide, dammit!"

Neal was silent, though his eyes begged Peter to let him speak.

"Oh, of _course _– you were trained to be a _good _little bitch boy and not speak unless spoken to," Peter said sarcastically. Neal didn't even look offended as he normally would, and he looked like he wanted to speak that much more.

"Dammit, Neal! Speak!" Peter said in exasperation.

"Master, I was following my previous master's orders," Neal said, and a familiar look came to his face that Peter recognized as defiance, but it was quickly gone as Neal shut his mouth, clearly cutting off what he wanted to say next. He even hunched his shoulders as though expecting a blow.

Peter sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, regretting his yelling. It really wasn't _this _poor kid's fault that his brain had been rewired to think he was a useless slave. But Peter was just so damn _frustrated _at having found a Neal that...well..._wasn't _Neal. He'd never thought it would happen, but he missed the old Neal. He'd rather be trying to get Neal out of one of his impulsive cons or saving him in a gun fight rather than trying to help him know who he was again. This was an area that he had no idea how to handle.

"I'm sorry, Neal – for snapping at you." Peter sighed. "This is hard all around."

"It was my fault, Master – I'm sorry," Neal said, dropping his head to look at the ground.

"No," Peter sighed again, "No, Neal – it was _my _fault." Neal didn't protest, but Peter could tell that he wanted to.

"Come on," Peter said, putting a light hand on Neal's shoulder and guiding him to the couch. "Come sit."

Neal looked doubtful, but he obeyed, perching himself on the very end of the cushion as though to jump off at any moment. Peter sighed inwardly, but pressed on.

"So," he said, leaning back. "This Nicholas Halden - your...former 'master'. I know he's one of your more commonly used aliases. Any reason for that?"

"He, uh..." Neal bit his lip a bit nervously. "He's – "

He was interrupted by a quick knock on the front door. With an inward sigh of annoyance, he got up and went to answer the door.

"Surprise!"

Diana and Jones stood there, both in casual clothes. Behind them were a few other agents from Peter's team. They all had balloons, and Jones held a Welcome Back cake in his hands. Others had paper plates, napkins, and plastic forks dispersed for all to carry something. **(A/N: the way that's worded is a little funky, but you guys get what I'm trying to describe, right?)**

They all went past Peter into the house, and as Peter looked on with confusion, Jones gave one of the other agents the cake, staying as the rest of them went to the kitchen to put their stuff down.

"We all got together to throw a Welcome Home party for Neal," Jones explained with a smile. "We tracked his anklet, and seeing that he was here, we knew you'd be with him, so...surprise!"

"Are you really sure that's the best idea for him right now?" Peter asked hesitantly. "I mean, he still thinks he's like my little slave boy. He's hardly said a word since we got here, and that's only when I _tell_ him to answer back."

"Come on, Peter," Jones said, "The best thing for him right now is to be among his friends – maybe that'll help him grow back to himself."

Peter took in a breath and nodded. "Alright. But I don't want anyone being rude to him. Like you said, he needs to adjust, and just because he's not the same right now as he was a year ago doesn't mean you should treat him any different."

Jones nodded. "Yep. I already told the others about his situation. It should be fine."

"Come on, Neal!" Diana said to Neal, coming in to the living room to stand in front of Neal. "The party's for you – _you_ should cut the cake!"

Neal looked to Peter as though searching for permission, and when Peter realized this, he nodded in assent. Silently, Neal followed Diana into the kitchen, Peter and Jones trailing behind them.

The party lasted for a couple of hours or so, with Neal the center of attention and yet still quiet. He only responded to something when someone asked him something directly, and even then his responses were as short as they could be without being rude. A few times it was a little awkward for the probies, but then Jones or Diana would jump in with something and they would all be laughing again.

Peter watched Neal's interactions with the other agents, trying to figure out what the best way to handle Neal this way would be. Neal never called anyone by name – it was either 'miss', 'ma'am', or 'sir'. Except, of course, when Neal had talked to Peter. It was Master then, always Master.

The first time Neal called Peter "Master", one of the probies had had to stop a giggle from rising, and when Diana had seen this, she had smacked him on the back of the head for his callousness. All of this was missed by Peter, of course, but when Neal had seen it, something had shown in his eyes – some sort of familiarity, and he had muttered something to himself about men's hats and strait coffee. No one else heard it, though. Still, he seemed a bit more comfortable with Diana than he was with anyone else.

Jones noticed this familiarity, and an expression of comprehension had dawned on him at some point. For the rest of the party, he watched in the way that Neal interacted with Diana, the way he was polite to her in a familiar sort of way, but still with a look almost of fear in his eyes. He called her ' miss', and then when Diana had snapped that he could shove that 'miss' up his ass and call her Diana or Berrigan or even Agent, he had relaxed much more still around her. But there was still that underlying apprehension when he interacted with her, like she held his life in her hands.

And that's when Jones figured it out. Neal was cautious of Peter because he was different from his "former master". His abductor had probably been harsh and cruel, and that was all that Neal knew. So when Peter, his "new master", came along with his kind friendship, it was foreign to Neal. But although Diana thought of Neal as a friend, she wasn't afraid to use her tongue. She had probably figured it out much sooner than Jones had, and that was the reason for her banter, however hard it was. It was familiar territory for Neal, and if he was going to be surrounded by friends – foreign territory for him now – then it was probably Diana's mentality that he should have familiarity as well, to ease him in to his old self. And because she was his friend, she was going to be that familiar territory for him.

Well, Jones was damn well going to be a friend, too, but he wasn't going to go about it like Diana. He decided that he would go along with Neal's strangeness, not try to correct him or do anything that may seem odd to Neal, but he wasn't going to pretend to be a master. He went along with the sirs, didn't say anything when Neal didn't eat a bite of the cake handed to him, didn't try to pull him into the conversation, and _definitely_ didn't say no when Neal offered to clean everything up. Everyone else, besides Diana of course, seemed about to protest, so he shot them a look behind Neal's head to go along with it. If Neal wanted to a slave for now, he would clean up like what he was taught that a slave should do. So they did, and began to leave, giving Neal well wishes on their way out the door.

As Neal cleaned up in the kitchen, Peter kept Diana and Jones back, and after making sure that Neal was out of earshot, he fixed them both with a stare.

"So what was your plan tonight?" he demanded, though not harshly. "Diana, I swear you're not usually this…this _brazen _with Neal, and Jones, you're not exactly a supporter of Neal's 'slavery' to me. What was your plan?"

Diana and Jones glanced at each other, and then Diana said, "He needs familiarity, and with your guys' closeness, you're not going to be able to be the kind of 'master' that he's familiar with. If he has just a small piece of familiarity like what he's been dealing with for the past year, he'll be able to slip into his usual self more easily."

"But when he starts getting confused between his two worlds," Jones cut in, "He's probably going to need someone he can talk to, someone he can trust. He's not going to Diana – for obvious reasons – and he's not going to go to you, because you're master, someone to fear, even if you're not trying to put off that image."

Peter closed his eyes and banged his head against the front door, which he had been leaning against. After a moment, he opened his eyes, saying, "Alright. Thanks for being there."

"Neal's our friend," Diana said. "We _have_ to help him."

**~WC~**

**Alright...long chapter. I think I deserve some reviews, don't you think? :)**


	6. Chapter 6

_Neal was walking down the street, a cup of coffee in his hand as he headed back to the FBI building in New York City. He was walking leisurely, enjoying the spring weather before he had to go back and look over old case files in the stuffy White Collar unit twenty-one floors up. _

_He sighed. He loved New York, working for the FBI, even being on the goddamn anklet, but sometimes it could just get so tiresome. Yes, he did have a two-mile radius and didn't have to be like the guy who had to shower with one foot out of the bathtub, but the same scenery every day could just get so mundane. He was grateful to Peter of course, but still. There were so many things that he missed out on - stuff like art exhibits that were just a quarter mile out of his radius but he couldn't go to because nobody at the office wanted to accompany him on his excursions. They were such boring people with pedestrian tastes._

_"You look like you're thinking hard."_

_At the voice beside him, Neal tensed with recognition. He would never forget that bastard's voice. Still walking, he said:_

_"I don't have the time right now, Halden."_

_"Aw, come on," Nick taunted, walking beside him at his pace. "For old time's sake."_

_"You've got nothing that I want right now," Neal said, wishing that he could just enjoy his morning._

_"Nah, but you've got something that __**I **__want," Nick said, not deterred in the least._

_"Well, whatever it is, I'm keeping it," Neal snapped._

_"Come on, Caffrey!" Nick cried jovially. "You do owe me, after that job in Cairo."_

_Neal stopped suddenly and turned to the middle-aged man. "I owe you nothing, Halden!" he exclaimed. "You killed her, can you just get on with your life already and leave me and my friends __**out **__of it?"_

_"Touché, Caffrey. Touché." Nick shrugged, pulling out a cigarette from his suit pocket and lighting it. He took a drag from it and Neal started walking again. _

_"But," Nick said thoughtfully as though continuing his thought, "I get a little __**violent **__when I'm pissed off."_

_Neal stopped suddenly and turned to face his old partner. "If you hurt anyone, Halden, I swear to God, I'll - "_

_"Ah, cool your engines, Caffrey," Nick said casually. "I haven't done anything." He took a puff of the cigarette and stepped closer to Neal, wagging his eyebrows as he finished, "Yet."_

_"What do want?" Neal demanded, though he sounded resigned._

_"You think I'm gonna lay all my cards on the table, right now?" Nick laughed a little and glanced away. "Jesus, Caffrey. It __**has **__been years."_

_"Yeah, well, I don't like dealing with bastards such as yourself," Neal said. "It's just not my style."_

_"Yeah, yeah." Nick said, waving his comment away like it was a pesky fly. "Look, I'll contact you tomorrow. I gotta get a few things prepared."_

_"I'm not doing anything illegal," Neal warned._

_Nick clutched a hand to his chest. "You hurt me, Caffrey. Really. Trust me, it'll be nothing you can't handle."_

_"I don't trust you farther than I could throw you," Neal said bluntly._

_Nick shrugged. "Again, touché. It won't get you into trouble with Burke, I can tell you that much."_

_"Give me a week," Neal said. "Then come to my place, and we'll talk there. And after this job, you leave me alone - for good."_

_Nick crossed his cigarette over his heart. "Why a week?"_

_"We're working on a case right now - it's important." Neal said. Nick scoffed, about to deny his request, but Neal interrupted with, "It's a kidnapping. She's only four, and we can't screw this up, or she dies."_

_The expression on Nick's face froze for an instant, and then he searched Neal's expression for any telltale signs of a lie._

_"Dammit, Caffrey, if you're fucking with me on this..."_

_"I'm not," Neal promised. "One week. That's all I ask."_

_Nick tossed his cigarette to the ground and rubbed his hand over his face. "Fuck...you always knew the right buttons to push."_

_Neal was silent for a moment, and then he said, "Thank you."_

_"Yeah, yeah," Nick sighed, and then his expression hardened again. "But one week - that's it. And you're gonna owe me huge."_

_Neal rolled his eyes. "Whatever."_

_"See you then, Caffrey," Nick said with a taunting smile. Then they both turned and walked away._

Neal's eyes flashed open and he sat up in bed with a cry. Then he quickly covered his mouth as though to take back the sound, hoping he hadn't woken Master Peter. He heard a sound downstairs, and he carefully eased himself out of bed, walking across the room to the door. He opened it carefully and peeked out, stumbling back in surprise when he saw Peter a mere foot away from the door. Peter pushed the door open, saying something, but Neal didn't hear it as he fell to his hands and knees.

"I'm sorry, Master," he practically gasped, his heart still pounding half from Peter startling him and half from his dream. "I'm sorry for waking you. I'm _so _sorry - forgive me, Master."

Peter walked into the room, going over to Neal and crouching in front of him.

"Hey, kid, _kid_! Neal!" Peter said, trying to get Neal's attention. He put a hand on Neal's shoulder, and he instantly shut up, though Peter noticed that he was still quivering like a chihuahua. He rose off of his hands, though he still remained kneeling, eyes downcast in fear and respect.

"Neal, I was already awake - it's okay," Peter tried to tell him. "El got home ten minutes ago, so I was talking with her downstairs. I heard you cry out, so I came up here to check on you."

"You - you heard?" Neal gasped shakily, sounding guilty. He bowed his head down even further.

"It's okay, Neal - really." Peter insisted, though still gently. "You can't help crying out after having a nightmare - you're actually calling out while still asleep, but it's the sound of your cry that wakes you up."

Neal wasn't sure what to say to that, so he remained silent. Then El was there, kneeling in front of him and putting a hand under his chin, forcing him to raise his eyes to look at her.

"Neal?" El said as though approaching a scared bird. "You remember me, don't you?"

Neal nodded, though he remained silent, eyes darting back and forth between Peter and El. He looked unsure, as though he expected them to snap at any moment.

"Come on," El said, putting a hand under his elbow. They both rose, and El said, "Let's go get something to eat downstairs."

**~WC~**

**So…you guys like? It took me a while to finish up this chapter, I know, but it took SO LONG to decide what to do in this chapter…it's just one of those things. Review? Please? :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Wow…it's been more than 2 months since I updated…sorry, guys! But I FINALLY got through my block, so…enjoy this after the long wait! :)**

**~WC~**

"Now I see what you mean, I guess," El said softly to Peter. They were in the living room, and Neal was kneeling on the floor across the room, arms clasped and head bowed. Peter and El sat on the couch, talking quietly.

They had tried to get Neal to eat in the kitchen, but he had only downed a small glass of apple juice and then went to stand beside Peter, ready for anything Peter wanted from him.

"He's eaten hardly anything since he got here yesterday," Peter explained. "I don't know what to do, hon. It's just...so..._confusing_." He looked across at Neal as he continued, "I mean, I would understand if he only acted this way with Halden, but now that Halden is in jail, you would think that he'd start acting normal again."

"Maybe Neal was so brainwashed that he only remembers bits and pieces of his old life," El suggested.

"Maybe," Peter said. After a moment, he continued, "I hate to say this, but we should find Mozzie. Maybe Neal will act normal around him, at least..."

El was already pulling out her cell phone. "Way ahead of you, hon."

~WC~

Neal started a little when the doorbell rang. He'd known someone was coming, but he hadn't heard who - Master Peter and Ms. El hadn't been speaking loud enough for him to hear. He'd been expecting it, but it still startled him when the sound of the doorbell reverberated through the room. He almost jerked his head up to see who it was, but then he remembered Master Peter and refrained from the instinct. Ms. El went and opened the door, and there were a few hushed words between them before someone was standing right in front of him. He could tell that it was a man, probably short, based on his feet. He could see that those feet were probably about a size nine, clad in old brown Converse. A the hem of the faded jeans brushed the floor, making Neal guess that he was probably a middle-class, middle-aged man. There was also a familiar scent lingering around him - a cross of the sun and wine. It was oddly comforting.

"Neal?"

As the familiar voice washed over him, Neal couldn't fight against his sudden instinct to raise his eyes. Before he could stop himself, his head snapped up and his gaze bored intensely into the man's eyes - the familiar, concerned brown eyes. He suddenly felt more at ease with the man than he had ever felt around anyone. His face broke into an involuntary smile.

"Moz," he blurted, and then bit his tongue when he remembered that Master and Ms. El were still there, watching.

"Hey, Neal!" he said with relief when Neal addressed him at least relatively normally. Then he did something that thoroughly surprised Neal – he knelt down to Neal's level and enclosed him in a bone-crushing hug. Neal stiffened, not used to the close contact, but then he relaxed and hugged him back with a smile.

"We were getting worried about you!" Mozzie informed him as he pulled back, though he still knelt in front of him. Neal vaguely noticed Peter and El leaving the room, but right then he was focused solely on Mozzie as the little man continued. "I was starting to think that aliens had kidnapped you – like Betty and Barney Hill!"

Neal's face broke into a rare grin. "No," he said softly. "I owed Master Nicholas."

Mozzie's nose wrinkled with distaste at Neal's casual use of "master", but he didn't press the issue. "I'm sure that, whoever he is, you didn't owe him _anything_. At least not that you would stay with him for a whole _year_. Jesus, Neal – you scared the shit out of me when I didn't hear from you in _forever_! Everyone else, except for Peter and El of course, thought that you had cut the anklet and ran."

"I was with him for a _year_?" Neal mused. "It felt like much shorter."

Mozzie paused and looked at Neal with a mildly concerned look. "How _much _shorter?" he asked carefully.

Neal shrugged. "It only felt like a couple of months." He said it so easily, so carelessly – it made Moz's heart clench.

"So…the Suit told me that you tried to off yourself," Mozzie said, staring into Neal's eyes so that Neal knew he was serious, and that this was important. "Why'd you do that?"

Neal's face was blank, honestly not understanding why Mozzie didn't get it. "Master Nicholas ordered me to," he said in a way that told Mozzie that he should've known that already. "I must obey my master."

Mozzie winced at the phrasing, but managed to ask, "Why did he order you to?"

Neal was silent for a moment, and Mozzie began to wonder if Neal had even heard him. But then a dark look came over his eyes and in a suddenly urgent voice, he said, "You have to find her – please. I know you've got a far reach, and if everyone was looking for her – "

"Who?" Mozzie interrupted. "Who are you talking about?"

"Shelby – Shelby McIntire," Neal said quickly, like he was repeating something Mozzie already knew but didn't care. "She ran away – from Master. She could be _anywhere _now!" his voice was filled with frustration and desperation.

"Was she…was she another slave?" Mozzie questioned, almost choking on the words.

Neal nodded rapidly, his hair falling in his eyes as he did so, but he apparently didn't care. "She was a rebel, but…" his face colored a little at a private thought, but he pressed on, "But I loved her. We were going to be together forever. We agreed on that."

With horror, everything suddenly clicked in Mozzie's quick mind. There was another slave alongside Neal, but she was more rebellious than Neal was, and she had succeeded in running away. With a fear that she would go to the authorities, Neal's "master" had ordered him to kill himself, so that he wouldn't be any more evidence against him. And Neal, brainwashed as he was, had thought that his "master" wanted this so that he could be happy.

What a bastard.

"I'll put out my feelers," Mozzie promised him, standing up.

Neal paused a moment, and then dipped his head. "Thank you, sir. Moz."

Mozzie quirked an odd smile at him. "It's no problem, Neal," he told him as he walked to the door. Then he turned back. "Peter and El aren't going to hurt you, man. They're not like your old master. Take it from your best friend."

Then he turned and walked out the door.

**~WC~**

**So…review? Please? ;)**


	8. Chapter 8

Unfortunately, it was insisted that Neal go back to work that day – even after a kidnapping, he was still a ward of the state, and he had to do his job. Peter didn't think that Neal was ready yet, but Neal didn't seem to mind as he sat silently in the passenger seat.

Peter had tried to explain the whole master-slave issue to the higher-ups, but he didn't think they really understood enough to make a fair judgment. But he didn't want to bring him in where they would relentlessly interrogate him to make sure he wasn't faking – that would no doubt be a horrible experience for Neal. Neal didn't deserve that. He would come around soon, anyway, and there would be nothing to worry about then.

So he hadn't pressed it, agreeing to take Neal and get him right back to work on boring old mortgage fraud cases instead. Still, as boring as it was, he still didn't want Neal to have any flashbacks or whatever about being kidnapped, and if he went back to his old schedule…

Maybe this _wasn't_ the best thing for Neal. Who _knew _what could happen...or what _was _happening in his head?

"Is something wrong, Master?"

Peter was brought back to the present at the sound of Neal's voice, and he realized that they were in the parking garage, parked with the car turned off.

"How long have we been sitting here?" Peter asked when he realized he had no idea.

For a moment, there was amusement in those bright blue eyes, but then it vanished into that blank look again as he said, "Not too long, Master."

Peter was sure he was lying, but he didn't push it. With a little sigh, he unlocked the doors and got out. Neal followed directly behind him, head down and arms back.

When they got to the office, Neal followed Peter up to his office. Peter sat down in his chair, just like he always did, though when he looked up, he was surprised to see Neal standing in the corner of the office, away from the doorway. He hadn't expected Neal to follow him all the way up. Usually Neal would go and sit at his desk - which Peter had made sure that no agent ever _dared _to fill - so it took a moment for him to remember that this was not a 'usually' sort of situation.

"Neal," he said a bit sternly but still gently. "You can go and sit at your own desk - there will be a stack of files there that you can work on."

Confusion lit across Neal's face. "My...desk?"

"Yes," Peter said slowly as though speaking to a child. "Your desk - the empty one right by the door."

Neal glanced furtively out the glass wall at the empty desk, and then back at Peter.

"_My_ desk?" he asked, sounding pained.

"Yes, Neal. It's _your _desk - it always has been." Peter said. "Go - no one's gonna bite you."

With a last troubled glance at Peter, Neal nodded and bowed his head a little, then left the office.

Peter looked up to Neal's desk about an hour later, and was surprised to see Neal sitting on the floor, Indian style. He had files spread all around him, and a yellow legal pad rested on one knee. As Peter watched, Neal turned the page in one of the files, read something, and then made a note on the pad. His brow was furrowed in deep concentration, like his entire being centered around figuring out the clue in those files. He had never been this involved in a boring old mortgage fraud case before. Ever. And on top of that...why was he on the floor?

With a small sigh to himself, Peter got up and walked down to the bullpen and over to Neal, just as he was starting to pick up the files and put them in order again. He stood up, and then jumped a little when he realized Peter was suddenly in front of him. He almost dropped the load of files in his arms, but he was just barely able to catch them.

"Master," he said a bit weakly, tipping his head respectfully as he tried to keep the files from tumbling out of his arms.

"Neal, what are you doing?" Peter asked him, though he sounded more weary than upset.

Apprehension flickered across the young man's face and he said, "I'm working, Master, like you told me to."

"But why aren't you sitting at your desk?"

"Because..." one of his brows furrowed in confusion. "It is your furniture."

"Sit," Peter said, pulling out the chair and giving Neal a little push into it. "Files on the desk."

Neal obeyed, and then clasped his hands in his lap as he bowed his head a little.

"Now," Peter said, putting his hands on his hips. "Don't mince words, and tell me what you found."

Peter watched as Neal hesitated for a moment before raising his eyes and taking a deep breath. Then, with a resolution almost like what Peter was used to seeing in Neal, he picked up the file sitting on top.

"This one's the wife," he said. "She didn't include information about the fifteen thousand-dollar debt on her credit card. This one"—he picked up the next file—"Is the cousin. The two of them have always been alike, so she decided to take her identity to fake the mortgage. This one…"

Peter was hardly listening as he looked down at Neal with pride. Neal didn't seem to notice, going through the fifteen or so case files with all different kinds of fraud that he had solved in a mere hour. He also had a familiar look on his face – one of arrogance but also boredom. It wasn't like it normally was, but it was there, just under the surface.

Yes, Peter realized. Neal would be back to normal soon. It would take time, but he would be okay.

**~WC~**

**Review? ;)**


	9. Chapter 9

**So...a couple of people told me that it seemed like Peter was merging into the role of "Master" WAY too easily, but I just felt like I should tell you guys that that's not what I'm going for, so not to worry. I mean, on the show, Peter is stern with Neal some times and treats him like a kid, so I figured I shouldn't take that away just because Neal is...different. The point I'd been trying to make was that even when Neal is different, Peter still thinks of him in the same way so he treats him the same way he did before. And when he told Neal to sit and tell him everything, I think I wrote it oddly so you guys read it like he was being mean, but in my head I imagined it as more a light scolding/bantering-combo...thingy. Does that make sense?**

**Also, another common concern among y'all is that the story will be all about finding Shelby. IT'S NOT.**

**Let me repeat that: THIS STORY IS NOT CENTERED AROUND FINDING SHELBY. The story is about getting Neal back to normal and all that stuff, but I included Shelby because she plays a Very Pivotal Part. She is extremely important to the story, but the story is NOT about finding her. So not to worry!**

**P.S. Um...I don't want to reveal too much, but those of you that want her and Neal to be a couple...well...don't get too attached to her...;/**

**Now that I left you something to think about...enjoy the chapter! :D**

**(*evil laugh fades in the distance*)**

**~WC~**

It had been two weeks. Two weeks since Mozzie had promised to look for Shelby McIntire. Neal hadn't changed around Peter and El, but he was getting a little more antsy as time went on, nervous for Shelby's fate. But, ever the con artist, he hid it well, masking his anxiety under a cool and calm façade for others' benefit.

Of course, because Peter knew him so well still, he knew something was wrong, but he didn't want to push it. He didn't want to make him more antsy than he already was.

Neal also steadily solved the cases that Peter and other agents put on his desk. The pile of mortgage fraud cases that had been backing up for so long gradually dwindled down to a small stack. Once, a couple of the probies tried to take advantage of Neal's current mental process and tried to give him their assignments and take the credit for it later, but as soon as Peter found out, he had them moved to filing indefinitely.

And Neal continued to work. At first he had been hesitant to sit at his desk and use the supplies, but gradually he got used to it, when he knew that that was expected and none of the others gave him crap for using the furniture. But still he was always on alert.

One Friday, the phone on Neal's desk vibrated, startling him. Peter had gotten it for him, as they'd never found his old phone, but still he didn't feel like it was his. He swallowed and ignored it, turning away as it continued to vibrate.

For a couple of hours, the phone vibrated every few minutes as someone continued to call it. Neal ignored it, like he was used to doing.

Then it stopped vibrating for a little while, but Neal hardly noticed. He continued to do his work, and then out of habit, glanced up at Peter's office. Peter had just looked up at him as well, and motioned for him to come in as he held his cell phone to his ear. Neal jumped up and went in to his office, closing the door behind him.

"Yes, Master?" he asked, hands automatically going behind his back.

"Mozzie's been trying to reach you for hours," Peter said with a puzzled look on his face. "He said you're not answering your phone. Why not?"

Neal was dumbfounded. How was he supposed to answer that?

But apparently the question was rhetorical, because Peter just held out his own phone. "Here," he said. "He wants to talk to you."

Neal took a half-step back, leaning away slightly as though the phone was a viper. Peter couldn't read the look on his face - was that...fear?

"What's wrong, Neal?" Peter asked, but Neal hardly heard him, trapped in a mental flashback.

_"Try and say something now, Caffrey."_

_No no no...please! Neal struggled for breath as the belt against his throat constricted his oxygen flow. The cell phone sat on the floor, a couple of feet away from where he'd dropped it. The 9-1 was barely visible to his blurry vision, but still it felt like it was taunting him._

**_Why in _****_hell_****_ couldn't I have dialed the last number? _**_He was barely able to think as black swam in his vision._

_"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"_

"Neal?"

The voice was distant in Neal's ears, but something was familiar in it - the concern, the worry. Still another voice whispered, drowning out the other.

_"This is what happens when the slave disobeys the master."_

_The belt was released just long enough for Neal to gasp in a single breath before it tightened around his neck again._

"Neal! Talk to me, buddy!" Neal hardly noticed Peter's hand on his shoulder, but he responded automatically, like he was on auto-pilot, dropping to his knees as the memory continued on in his head, like a film...

_"You're going to be a good boy, aren't you, Neal?"_

_The voice would've been soothing if the speaker wasn't strangling him as he said it. Neal choked, his face feeling warm as he was sure it turned an unbecoming shade of purple. He wondered distantly if it now matched his tie, and then wondered how he could be thinking of something so trivial when he was literally choking to death._

_Just as he was about to pass out, the belt loosened again, allowing him one more breath before it constricted around his neck once more._

_"You're not going to call for help anymore, are you, Neal?" the taunting voice jeered. "Because that would be bad. And bad slaves get punished. __**You **__should remember that."_

_No no no...please stop, please please __**please**__!_

_"After all, I trained you once. It shouldn't be __**too **__hard to remember that."_

_Then the belt was released, and he sucked in great gasps of air. He fell on his hands and knees, coughing and gasping as vision and consciousness returned again._

_The man squatted so that he was in front of Neal. After Neal had stopped coughing and gasping so violently, he put his hand under Neal's chin so that he was looking at him._

_"Now," he said, almost gently. "Are you going to be a good boy?"_

_Neal looked at the man's face, and tried to stir up those feelings of hatred he'd had just minutes before. This was wrong, this was horrible, this shouldn't be happening, but the feelings he'd had as a child won out. And he felt no hatred. He felt devotion, loyalty…and that was wrong. But it was right. It __**felt **__right._

_No no no! This wasn't right! He could fake it. He could. He was a con man – this was his specialty. He had to, so that he could escape. This was wrong._

_"Are you going to be a good boy, Neal?" he asked again, this time with a clear note of warning in it._

_Neal swallowed. His voice was scratchy and quiet as it came out. "Yes."_

_Nicholas' face darkened a bit, but he said smoothly, "What was that, Neal?" There was definitely a note of warning, stronger than before. Neal just stared at him, determined to keep his wits about him. This was wrong. It was. It always had been. His eyes flickered to the cell phone, which by now had turned itself off from being left alone too long. Maybe he could get to it…_

_Nicholas could see the conflicting emotions and indecision on Neal's face, and that was enough for him. He wasn't fully broken in yet._

"Neal! Talk to me, buddy!" Peter's voice was growing increasingly concerned as he called to his CI, but still Neal was trapped in his memory.

_Neal gasped as Nicholas yanked his head out of the water by his hair. Then he was back in the water again. He tried to push against the edge of the bathtub, trying to get out, but he was so weak._

_And suddenly he was four again as Nicholas trained him to be a good slave. He had been tricked into believing one thing, and then was extensively punished for following that belief. It was the only way to hard-wire it into his brain. It was cruel, but effective. He was not Nicholas – he was Master._

_Neal was pulled out of the water again, and this time he wasn't shoved back under. He fell on his back, staring up at the ceiling as he took in huge lungfuls of air._

_Then Nicholas' face was upside-down in his vision as he squatted to Neal's level again._

_"Neal," he said, in that familiar falsely gentle voice. "Are you going to be a good boy?"_

_Neal rolled over, going to his hands and knees as he bowed in front of the man. In front of his master. Because this was real – this was right. He would always be slave, the other would be master. He'd been a fool to think otherwise._

_"Yes, Uncle," he whimpered, voice weak and scratchy._

_"Neal," the warning was there again._

_Automatically Neal bent himself farther so that he was literally kissing the man's feet. Brokenly, but still sure, Neal whispered, "Yes, __**Master**__."_

**~WC~**

**Well…I promised a flashback, didn't I? I hadn't planned on the flashback being so LONG and dominating pretty much the WHOLE chapter, but it is what it is. You guys like the twist with Nicholas Halden? In case you didn't catch it, he didn't say "uncle" as in "mercy". He said "uncle" as in "my father's brother". See, I didn't want his DAD to be the bad guy, 'cause there are so many of those out there, it's not even a new idea anymore. Don't get me wrong, I like some of those and I have a couple of my own like that, but I've never found any where the UNCLE is the bad guy. I'll explain with the whole name thing in another chapter, but for now, this chapter is already long enough. ;)**

**So…review? S'il vous plaît? :)**


	10. Chapter 10

Peter stared down at Neal as the blankness increased across his handsome features. It was a different blankness than before - it had some sort of...fear accompanying it. Neal was on his knees, but he didn't seem to be aware of this fact as his breathing hitched.

"I'll have him call you back," Peter said to Mozzie on the other end of the phone, and then hung up without waiting for a response. Then he turned to Neal as he continued to seemingly struggle to breathe.

"Neal," Peter urged, shaking his shoulder. "Talk to me, buddy!"

Still Neal didn't respond, and then Peter had a sudden inspiration. He tried to push the thought from his mind, but then it came right back. Neal needed some familiarity.

"Caffrey!" Peter said in a stern tone, even as his stomach roiled in protest. He none-too-gently grabbed Neal's chin in his hand. "Caffrey, talk to me!"

Miraculously, that seemed to snap Neal out of it. Clouded eyes wandered to Peter's, finally focusing as they found their target.

"Yes, Master," he whispered, sounding broken.

"What's wrong, Neal?" Peter asked him concernedly, automatically reverting to his usual self when Neal responded. He released Neal's chin.

Neal dipped his head. "Nothing, Master."

"Neal, tell me what that was, or so help me God, I'll - "

Then Neal did something like himself: he interrupted Peter. Peter was so shocked that the young man did what Neal would consider disrespect in his current state that it took a moment for his actual words to process.

"It was nothing, okay?" he said, sounding almost angry. Almost. "Un - Master Nicholas told me that using a phone was forbidden. I _can't use the phone_."

Peter didn't miss the way Neal cut himself off after the 'un', and he wondered what he had been about to say. He didn't ask, though, instead saying:

"Well, as much as I don't like it, now _I'm _your 'master', so I'm telling you that talking on the phone is _not _forbidden. In fact, I'd _prefer _it. And right now, Mozzie wants to talk to you." He held out the cell phone to Neal.

Neal swallowed and stared up at Peter's face. There didn't seem to be any dishonesty there, but...neither had there ever been any on Master Nicholas'. He didn't want to be punished again.

_Please don't, Peter. _He thought involuntarily. _Don't do this._

"Neal, just take the damn phone," Peter said, growing increasingly frustrated as Neal continued to stare up at him.

With a shaking hand, Neal reached out and took the phone from his hand, just as it began buzzing again. Mozzie was calling back. He stared down at the phone as it continued to vibrate.

"Neal," Peter said in a gentler tone. "I'm not gonna hurt you. No one is. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

Neal didn't look like he believed him, but he answered the phone anyway, eyes staying on Peter.

"Hell...o?" Neal said, his voice shaky and nervous.

"What's wrong, Neal?" Mozzie said on the other line. "What happened?"

Peter only looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face, so he thought it was safe to continue.

"N...nothing," he said a bit tentatively. "What's up, Moz?"

"Are you sitting down?" Mozzie sounded nervous.

"More or less," Neal replied. He was still kneeling in front of Peter, but something about the tone in Mozzie's voice worried him. "What's wrong?"

"Well...I was looking for this Shelby McIntire girl that you were telling me about..."

Neal instantly became more alert, forgetting about Peter for a moment. "Yes? What is it? What'd you find?"

"Neal..." he sighed, sounding sad as he continued, "Her body washed up on the Hudson River a week ago." There was a pause, and then a soft, "I'm sorry."

Neal blinked, trying to swallow against his suddenly dry throat. "She's dead?" he whispered, hardly believing it.

"I'm sorry, Neal," Mozzie repeated.

Neal took in a deep breath, and then said dully, "Master."

"What?" Peter asked him, thinking that Neal was talking to him. But Neal only stared straight ahead, not even thinking about the phone still at his ear.

"What did I do?" Neal said in a crushed voice. Tears welled up in his eyes, but they didn't spill over – he was still in too much shock to _really _cry.

"Neal, you didn't do anything," Mozzie told him, wondering what was going through his best friend's mind. "This wasn't you – you were still with…you were still gone."

"No no _no_," Neal said frustratedly, shaking his head. "You don't _understand_!"

Just then Diana Berrigan walked in, having seen Neal from the bullpen. She had come to see what was going on, but when she saw him on the phone, looking desperate and lost, and Peter standing there and obviously not knowing what to do, she immediately knew she was needed.

"Caffrey," she said sternly, and when he looked up at her with those hopeless blue eyes, she felt bad for what she was going to do. But she pressed on, holding out her hand and saying, "Phone."

Without another word to Mozzie, Neal hung up and obediently handed her the phone, his expression a bit guarded. He automatically averted his eyes from her face and slipped his arms behind his back.

Diana gave the phone to Peter, who slipped it into his pocket as he watched the two of them.

"Why were you on Peter's phone?" she demanded, hands on her hips. She really didn't give a shit, but she needed to find out what was going on in a way that Neal would be used to before she knew what to say to him.

Neal's eyes flickered to Peter, an unreadable look crossing his features. Then, eyes down again, he said, "Master told me to."

"And what did Mozzie tell you?" Diana asked, making a guess to the person on the other line.

Tears welled up again, and this time a single tear escaped, trailing down the handsome man's cheek. But his voice was clear and obedient as he answered, "He told me that a friend of mine died a week ago."

Diana closed her eyes as she had an epiphany. Nothing was ever normal with Neal. If a friend of his had died, it was most likely that they were murdered. She opened her eyes and looked at Peter, wondering how they would begin to navigate through the can of worms that had been dumped at their feet.

**~WC~**

**Review? ;)**


	11. Chapter 11

The week after Neal had found out about Shelby's death was an eventful one. He began to act a bit more like himself, but even less, if that made sense. He conned people into thinking that he was alright, and the conning part of that was normal, but in the pretending he became even more diligent and obedient. Peter wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

Diana became a bit more strict with Neal; because Peter might as well have been out of commission for all that he was doing with Neal's progress. She knew that it wasn't his fault – he just didn't understand how hurting Neal would be helping him. He wanted everything to go back to normal immediately, but Diana understood that it was going to take time and patience, the latter being something that Peter didn't currently have.

Jones, meanwhile, saw what Diana was doing, and a couple of times he'd step in and stop her from almost flat-out berating him – discreetly, of course, for Neal's sake – taking him to go do some other files. Diana knew this, but still she pretended to be annoyed when Jones would take him.

And Neal, though he would never admit it – even to himself – was grateful to Jones for doing this. He didn't know his motives, though, so he was still confused.

In fact, he was confused with _all _of this. He didn't understand the dynamics of the office – wasn't even completely sure why he was there. He was especially confused that everyone insisted that he sit at the desk that Master had told him was his. They gave him strange looks when he sat on the ground, as though he was crazy. And when Peter had become visibly upset when Neal wouldn't sit at the desk, he knew that this wasn't some trick on Peter's part; to make him do something wrong and then punish him for it. So he sat in the chair.

But still it was confusing. He didn't _want _to be here – he didn't _want _to do this. He didn't understand why people looked at him like he was a freak show whenever he did what he was supposed to. Slaves don't sit on the furniture unless they were doing something that _required _it, and even then they had to being given permission. He wasn't supposed to use the phone – that was one of the bigger rules, even more important than not sitting on the furniture. But still Peter had looked at him like he had been losing his mind.

But he owed it to Master Peter. He was Master; Neal was slave. That was the way it worked. This was the right thing. So he did what he was told, and he didn't complain. Because that was not his place.

There was also the strangeness of not living in the same place as Master. Wouldn't he always want to keep him on hand for when he needed him? But he said nothing about it, again. It was not his place to ask questions.

But still…something about this was wrong, even setting aside the issue of weirdness around the office. It wasn't the way people treated him; it was the way he was thinking of himself. Was he forgetting to do something for Master? What was it? He knew he was missing something – he _knew _it…but why couldn't he remember what it was?

~WC~

Neal stood in the corner of the Burkes' living room, waiting for instructions. Master and Ms. El were in the kitchen, but no one had told him to follow, so he remained where he was, staring down at the carpet fibers on the rug. He wasn't sure what was going on, but Master had gotten a call on his cell phone about ten minutes before, and after listening for a minute or so, he hung up without saying a word and went into the kitchen to talk to Ms. El.

He'd been standing there ever since.

He wondered what they were talking about. It was bad; he knew that. He could feel the tension in the air, thick and almost choking him. He remembered after Peter – _Master _– had hung up, his jaw had tightened and his eyes hardened as he directed Ms. El into the kitchen.

Neal worried that it was about him. Had he done something wrong? What was it? He'd had to fight against every instinct he had not to ask Master, because it was not his place to ask questions.

He fidgeted as he waited for Master to come back out, no doubt with a belt or paddle in hand. He remembered his training with Master Nicholas vividly – he did something wrong, and the punishment would vary anything from spanking to garroting to water boarding. He cringed at the memories, of just a year ago _and_ as a child.

Then Master and Ms. El came back, and he pushed those thoughts away. His eyes roved over both of them, checking to be sure, but they were both empty-handed. Well, Pe – _Master_ – was holding Ms. El's hand, but other than that, nothing. So it wasn't about him. He couldn't help but let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Neal," Peter said, going over to him. He put a hand on Neal's shoulder, forgetting that that was one of the unspoken signals that Neal had been trained to respond to.

"No. Neal," Peter said, a tinge of sadness in his voice as he put a hand under Neal's elbow. "Stand up."

Neal obeyed, now confused. Did he want to play the Guessing Game – was he supposed to guess what Master wanted him to do? He had played it enough times to know that he always lost.

But Peter only led Neal over to the couch. "Sit down," he said. Neal obeyed, though there was a touch of hesitation in the action. Then Peter sat beside him, and El on the other side. Neal started to get a bit of a sick feeling in his stomach as he felt boxed in. What were they going to do to him? He felt trapped, like he needed to get out. He unconsciously began drumming his fingers on his knee.

Peter and El were unaware of Neal's thoughts and feelings – they thought one being on either side of him would offer him some comfort as they gave him a shattering piece of news.

"Neal," Peter said a bit timidly, as though approaching a bird that would be ready to fly away at any moment.

"Yes, Master," Neal acknowledged softly, swallowing a little in an attempt to hide his nervousness.

"We have a bit of disappointing news," El said when she saw that Peter couldn't continue.

"Disappointing? It's _awful_." Peter said, shaking his head.

Neither of them said anything for a minute, so Neal thought it was safe to ask, "What's awful, Master?"

Peter took in a deep, calming breath, and then said, "Neal…your…Nicholas Halden."

Neal's brow furrowed a little when Peter didn't continue. "What about him, Master?" he finally asked.

Taking another cleansing breath, Peter finally looked him square in the eye. "Neal…he's been in custody since you were found – his trial was supposed to be next week."

Neal nodded a bit slowly. "Yes…"

"Well…he escaped. We don't know where he is, or what he's going to do to you if he finds you."

**~WC~**

**Da-da-DUM! Does this chapter merit a review? I think it does.**

**Oh, and also...I've been toying with Chapter 12 for a while now - I'm not quite sure how to go with it, so I decided to ask for your guys' advice. I know Neal is having a flashback, and that's probably ALL I want the chapter to be, but do you guys want me to implement those "possible future situations" I talked about in the summary? Actually, let me be more specific: should Halden rape Neal after Neal is first captured? That's really all I'm thinking of for "situations", but the way I already wrote it out I found to be pretty graphic, so I went back and wrote an alternative chapter. In short, I have two chapters that I'm juggling between, and everyone's vote counts, so after I get like, ten or fifteen votes, then I can put up the chapter…so…advice, please?**


	12. Chapter 12

**So…the votes were pretty much tied on what to do in this chapter, so I posted two versions of it. This one is the one where Neal gets raped, and it's longer than the other version, but if you don't want it, just go to the next chapter and it's pretty much the same but without the rape (though there is the suggestion that it's happened before). I have to warn you though: it's a bit graphic, so don't give me crap for it. You were warned. :)**

**~WC~**

_Neal curled up in his cage, wrapping his arms around his legs, knees up to his chest. He was with Uncle Nicholas again. He remembered earlier that day, after they'd finished the case, he had gone immediately to his uncle, not wanting him to think that he was blowing him off to warn someone. If he got even the slightest idea in his head, he would go and hurt Mozzie, or even El. It didn't really matter – he couldn't let __**anyone **__get hurt – this was __**his **__battle. That's why he'd left before he got the anklet put back on – he didn't want Uncle's house showing up on the tracking data._

_He'd thought it would be a quick chat, maybe even a conversation where Uncle tried to convince him to come back and work for him, with Neal repeatedly saying 'no' in a polite manner so as not to piss him off. Then he could get out of there, go back to Peter, and get the anklet put back on._

_Stupid mistake._

_As soon as the door had closed behind him, he'd felt the familiar sting of a Taser on his neck, and he was out like a light. He'd woken up in this position in the cage._

**_Idiot, _**_he berated himself for the hundredth time since waking up. __**Why bother trying to convince you to join him if he thinks he can just **__**train**__** you to be his slave again?**_

_His adolescent years were still fresh in his memory, of when both of his parents had died and he'd been left with his only uncle, his father's older brother. His given name, the name on his birth certificate, was Neal Halden. When he was two, his parents had both died within weeks of each other, and because Uncle Nicholas was the only family he had left, he went to him. He had no idea how awful that arrangement would be, how it would affect the rest of his life._

_He had only been two, so Uncle had started calling him "Little Nick" – making him believe that __**he **__was his father. And Neal had been confused at first, but then Nicholas began his training on the boy._

_It hadn't taken long for the small little boy to become compliant to his "father's" wishes, but when he was ten he found out that he wasn't his father, but his uncle. Still, he felt betrayed, and he stopped obeying him. That's when Nicholas began his more rigorous training, and after Neal began to take to calling him Uncle, he trained him to call him Master. Soon, in a 1984 kind of torture, Neal began to forget things that Master wanted him to forget. He forgot about his freedom, became a robot almost. He never left the villa, except when he was on a heist._

_That was why Master had trained him – he wanted him to be his little con man, his front man. So Neal learned about forgery and lock picking and grifting and anything he was told to learn. He went on jobs, did whatever Master told him to, and he tricked himself into believing that this was the way it was supposed to be. Soon, he began to believe it, and idolized Master, treated him like a god._

_It made him sick to remember it._

_Then, when he was almost nineteen, Master's four-year-old daughter died of leukemia. Master grew even more cold then; depressed and empty. It was around that time when he suddenly realized that this __**wasn't **__right. Nicholas wasn't a god – he was a person, and so was he. He had no right to keep him here._

_He kept his thoughts to himself, though, waiting for their next heist, which happened to be in Cairo. But while Neal was packing Nicholas' things to go back home after the job, his eye found a box in his suitcase that he'd never seen before. And Neal had packed his things himself. Knowing that if Nicholas found out, he would be punished, he hurried to open the small, book-sized box, and what he saw made his heart stop._

_He picked up the small ceramic handgun, heart pounding as in image flashed through his mind. It was a photograph – one he never should've seen, but when he'd gone to the police station after his mother's death, it had been open on the desk. One photograph was of his mother, a bluish tinge to her skin as she lied sprawled across the ground of their apartment, blood dripping from a bullet hole in her forehead, above her left eyebrow. The next picture was lying just underneath it, but he could still see the unique design of the ceramic handgun._

_The very handgun he was now holding. His uncle's handgun. The one that had killed his mother._

_At that moment, everything clicked into place. After his father died, his uncle killed his mother to get custody over him. He remembered a distant conversation – Nicholas and his mother used to be lovers. Then she met his brother and married him. Nicholas had felt ripped off, because Neal should've been Nicholas'. But Neal wasn't what he'd expected, and he needed a slave more than he needed a son._

_He'd heard a step behind him, and he knew it was his uncle. He didn't move, remaining still as Nicholas walked up behind him._

_"What're you doing, boy?" Nicholas asked him, a hint of warning in his voice._

_The silence was palpable. Nicholas was a foot behind him, and Neal's hand that held the gun was under his jacket, hidden from view._

_Suddenly Neal turned, brought the gun up, pushing it against Nicholas' chest. Nicholas didn't look concerned, though Neal knew that the gun was loaded – he could feel the weight of the bullets. So he didn't know why his uncle was grinning like the Cheshire cat._

_"You killed her," Neal said coldly. "Now it's your turn."_

_"You're not going to kill me, Neal," Nicholas said, still smiling. "I'm your master. That would be an utmost betrayal on your part."_

_"I don't think you heard me right," Neal said through gritted teeth. "You __**killed **__my __**mother**__! I think that stings of betrayal a __**lot **__more than __**this**__ would."_

_"Where will you go?" he asked calmly. "You've got nothing, __**no**__ ties to the world. The government doesn't even know you __**exist**__."_

_"What?" Neal asked blankly. He knew he shouldn't give the man any feed, but he needed to know what he was talking about._

_"It's true," Nicholas said, clearly enjoying this. "You drowned nine years ago. Sad, really. The funeral was on what would've been on your tenth birthday."_

_"All the better for me," Neal said truthfully. He could get an alias, and no one would know of his previous life. He'd be a new person, have a new identity, and be free._

_He looked down at the gun in his hand, contemplating._

_"How do __**you**__ think you should you die, Uncle?" he asked him, using that falsely soothing voice that he always used on him._

_"How about right here?" Nicholas suggested in his other falsely sweet voice, pointing above his left eyebrow. "It's very poetic, really – don't you think?"_

_Neal clicked off the safety switch, jabbing the gun farther into his uncle's gut. "You son of a – " Then he stopped. He wasn't going to rise to his bait. Smiling sweetly and somewhat devilishly, he said, "How about I make you a eunuch? Won't be able to have any more daughters to love." He aimed the gun lower, staring into Nicholas' eyes._

_"Do it," Nicholas said calmly, though his eyes burned with hatred. "As your __**Master**__…I __**dare **__you to."_

_That cut bone. He was __**not **__master. He wasn't. But the thought was in his head, and his training was still there, and somehow, even after all of this, he still felt that loyalty, that devotion…and he couldn't do something that would hurt his master like that._

_Nicholas read the doubt on Neal's face and sounded triumphant as he said, "That's right. You can't do this. I'm your __**master**__, Nick. Now give me the gun."_

_Neal shook his head, new resolve filling his eyes as he said, "Nope. You've made three mistakes. I __**can **__do this, you're __**definitely **__not my master, and my name is not Nick." His eye caught on a piece of mail from the last guest in the trash can, and he said confidently, "My name is Neal Caffrey. And you know what they say: three strikes, and you're out."_

_Then, before another word could be uttered between either of them, Neal aimed the gun lower, at Nicholas' thigh. Then he pulled the trigger, and as Nicholas cried out with incensed pain, he calmly put the gun in the waistband of his slacks, at the small of his back. Straightening his tie, he walked out the door, leaving his past behind him._

_And now…it was back to haunt him. The door opened, and Neal met Halden's blue eyes – a mirror image of his own – as defiantly as he was able to muster, which was no small amount._

_"Ah, Caffrey," Halden said almost tenderly as he bent down, brushing a piece of hair off of Neal's forehead. "You knew that this day would come."_

_"I was kinda hoping you'd, you know, __**die **__first."_

_Halden only chuckled with amusement, patting Neal's cheek before he reached into his pocket, pulling out the key to the cage. Neal had tried to pick it before, of course, but Halden had put him in too awkward of a position for him to be able to reach it. The lock was behind him, after all, and his arms were in front of him._

_He felt an uncontrollable anger rise in him as he felt a hand on his ass, and he tensed involuntarily, memories flashing through his mind. But Halden only squeezed it sort of teasingly and then let go, chuckling with amusement as he unlocked the door and let Neal out._

_But if Neal thought that Halden was done with his fun, he was wrong. As soon as Neal stood up, Halden's lips crushed against his. Neal felt his hands clench into fists as he tried to push him away, but Halden's arms were already wrapped tightly around him, holding him. He could feel Nicholas' hardness growing against him as he was pressed against his leg, and bile rose in his throat. This was his __**uncle**__! This was __**wrong**__! But Halden didn't seem to care in the least as his tongue tried to force Neal's mouth open._

_"Stop," Neal tried to protest, but in doing so he opened his mouth, and Halden's tongue eagerly went in, sucking and swirling. Neal bit Halden's tongue, and Halden jerked his head back, though he still kept his arms squeezed around Neal, holding him captive. Neal could see the desire and arousal in his darkening eyes, and it made him sick to his stomach._

_"You know, I have another slave here," he said suddenly. Neal didn't see the importance of this until Halden continued, "She's very pretty. Her name's Shelby. She's like you…rebellious."_

_Neal caught the double meaning behind his words, and his eyes darkened, though contrary to Halden, it wasn't arousal – it was a deep, visceral anger. If Neal didn't comply with him, he'd go have fun with this Shelby. Even if she wasn't real, and it was just a trick on Halden's part, he couldn't take that chance._

_This time it was Neal who initiated the kiss, wanting to keep his uncle's mind off of the innocent girl, young by the sounds of it. Both men's hands roamed over the other's body, and as much as Neal's brain hated it, his body was enjoying itself; he could feel his own hardness growing. It brushed against Halden's groin, and he could feel him smile against his lips. This made Neal even angrier, and he began sucking against Halden's lips harder, biting enough to draw blood. But Halden wasn't angry – he enjoyed it, the bastard. _

_Neal hadn't been conscious of the fact that they were making their way to the bed, but suddenly the back of his thighs crashed against the edge of it, sending him toppling onto his back. Still Halden continued, one hand holding tightly to Neal's hair, and the other beginning to undo his belt buckle as he moved from Neal's mouth to his jaw._

_"I'm gonna kill you, Halden," Neal ground out as Halden began unbuckling Neal's belt, still nibbling along his jaw line._

_"I dunno," Nicholas said, his words heated with lust as he pulled Neal's pants down. Neal's dick sprang up, hard as a rock as it hit Halden's genital hair. Nicholas wrapped his hand around it, massaging it slowly at first and then more vigorously as he whispered in his ear, "You seem to be enjoying yourself well enough now."_

_Neal couldn't say anything else as Nicholas suddenly got up onto the bed with Neal, straddling him as he bent down and sucked against Neal's lips again. As he did this, he unbuttoned his dress shirt, slowly…slowly. Neal grew impatient; he knew Halden loved teasing him, but this was ridiculous. His dick was starting to hurt as it grew ever harder with provocation. He __**needed **__a release, and he needed Halden's help with that, and Halden knew that. That was his game._

_But he wasn't going to ask – no way. He'd rather die first._

_Halden ran his hands up and down Neal's chest, and then moved higher so that his cock hung near Neal's chin. Gritting his jaw, Neal opened his mouth obediently, and the hard, thick prostate filled his mouth. Neal began sucking as Halden let out pleasured grunts, thrusting into him and making him choke. The sweet liquid began to flow, and Neal started to pull away to spit the vile stuff out, but Halden grabbed him by his hair, holding him in place._

_"Swallow it," he ordered, eyes dark. In response, Neal bit down as hard as he could on the thing, causing the man to scream, a cross between pain and pleasure._

_"I see," Halden said when he got his breath back. And with that he pulled himself out of Neal's mouth and immediately flipped him onto his stomach. Neal winced as Halden's still-hardening cock was thrust suddenly and painfully into his ass. As Halden rutted into him, crying out with pleasure as he grasped and massaged Neal's hips, using them as leverage, Neal clenched his fists together beside himself, wishing he was anywhere but here. He hated Halden – hated him with everything he had._

_"I knew I should've made you a eunuch," Neal said heatedly as Halden's juices flowed into him._

_Halden stopped his thrusting suddenly, and then he yanked out of him so quickly that Neal's body was jerked upward. He was sure he was going to have a rash there later. He was flipped back onto his back, and Halden's finger traced lightly around the base of Neal's cock, making it grow that much harder and more painful. Neal almost groaned, needing a release now more than ever. It felt like a too-full balloon, ready to explode, and on top of that like someone was squeezing the thing as hard as they could. It hurt like hell, but Neal didn't say anything about it. He wouldn't give in._

_"Well," Halden said, voice still filled with lust. "You __**do **__need to get rid of __**this **__annoying thing. Shall I call Shelby up?"_

_Neal swallowed angrily at Halden's comment. "I'd rather fuck __**myself**__."_

_Halden's smile grew and he flicked at the erection before he stepped back, retrieving his pants from the ground._

_"Have fun with yourself, then," he laughed as he left the room._

_Neal swallowed down more anger as he looked down and saw Halden's juices on the sheets near his ass. Shaking his head angrily, he began to massage his dick to get his own juices out. He'd been facetious before, but he really __**did **__need to get rid of this feeling so that he could put his pants back on. And then he __**really **__needed to figure out a way to get out of there._

**~WC~**

**Review?**


	13. Chapter 12-5

**And here's the chapter without the rape, though as I said in the author's note before, there is the suggestion that Neal has been raped by him before...**

**~WC~**

_Neal curled up in his cage, wrapping his arms around his legs, knees up to his chest. He was with Uncle Nicholas again. He remembered earlier that day, after they'd finished the case, he had gone immediately to his uncle, not wanting him to think that he was blowing him off to warn someone. If he got even the slightest idea in his head, he would go and hurt Mozzie, or even El. It didn't really matter – he couldn't let __**anyone **__get hurt – this was __**his **__battle. That's why he'd left before he got the anklet put back on – he didn't want Uncle's house showing up on the tracking data._

_He'd thought it would be a quick chat, maybe even a conversation where Uncle tried to convince him to come back and work for him, with Neal repeatedly saying 'no' in a polite manner so as not to piss him off. Then he could get out of there, go back to Peter, and get the anklet put back on._

_Stupid mistake._

_As soon as the door had closed behind him, he'd felt the familiar sting of a Taser on his neck, and he was out like a light. He'd woken up in this position in the cage._

**_Idiot, _**_he berated himself for the hundredth time since waking up. __**Why bother trying to convince you to join him if he thinks he can just **__**train**__** you to be his slave again?**_

_His adolescent years were still fresh in his memory, of when both of his parents had died and he'd been left with his only uncle, his father's older brother. His given name, the name on his birth certificate, was Neal Halden. When he was two, his parents had both died within weeks of each other, and because Uncle Nicholas was the only family he had left, he went to him. He had no idea how awful that arrangement would be, how it would affect the rest of his life._

_He had only been two, so Uncle had started calling him "Little Nick" – making him believe that __**he **__was his father. And Neal had been confused at first, but then Nicholas began his training on the boy._

_It hadn't taken long for the small little boy to become compliant to his "father's" wishes, but when he was ten he found out that he wasn't his father, but his uncle. Still, he felt betrayed, and he stopped obeying him. That's when Nicholas began his more rigorous training, and after Neal began to take to calling him Uncle, he trained him to call him Master. Soon, in a 1984 kind of torture, Neal began to forget things that Master wanted him to forget. He forgot about his freedom, became a robot almost. He never left the villa, except when he was on a heist._

_That was why Master had trained him – he wanted him to be his little con man, his front man. So Neal learned about forgery and lock picking and grifting and anything he was told to learn. He went on jobs, did whatever Master told him to, and he tricked himself into believing that this was the way it was supposed to be. Soon, he began to believe it, and idolized Master, treated him like a god._

_It made him sick to remember it._

_Then, when he was almost nineteen, Master's four-year-old daughter died of leukemia. Master grew even more cold then; depressed and empty. It was around that time when he suddenly realized that this __**wasn't **__right. Nicholas wasn't a god – he was a person, and so was he. He had no right to keep him here._

_He kept his thoughts to himself, though, waiting for their next heist, which happened to be in Cairo. But while Neal was packing Nicholas' things to go back home after the job, his eye found a box in his suitcase that he'd never seen before. And Neal had packed his things himself. Knowing that if Nicholas found out, he would be punished, he hurried to open the small, book-sized box, and what he saw made his heart stop._

_He picked up the small ceramic handgun, heart pounding as in image flashed through his mind. It was a photograph – one he never should've seen, but when he'd gone to the police station after his mother's death, it had been open on the desk. One photograph was of his mother, a bluish tinge to her skin as she lied sprawled across the ground of their apartment, blood dripping from a bullet hole in her forehead, above her left eyebrow. The next picture was lying just underneath it, but he could still see the unique design of the ceramic handgun._

_The very handgun he was now holding. His uncle's handgun. The one that had killed his mother._

_At that moment, everything clicked into place. After his father died, his uncle killed his mother to get custody over him. He remembered a distant conversation – Nicholas and his mother used to be lovers. Then she met his brother and married him. Nicholas had felt ripped off, because Neal should've been Nicholas'. But Neal wasn't what he'd expected, and he needed a slave more than he needed a son._

_He'd heard a step behind him, and he knew it was his uncle. He didn't move, remaining still as Nicholas walked up behind him._

_"What're you doing, boy?" Nicholas asked him, a hint of warning in his voice._

_The silence was palpable. Nicholas was a foot behind him, and Neal's hand that held the gun was under his jacket, hidden from view._

_Suddenly Neal turned, brought the gun up, pushing it against Nicholas' chest. Nicholas didn't look concerned, though Neal knew that the gun was loaded – he could feel the weight of the bullets. So he didn't know why his uncle was grinning like the Cheshire cat._

_"You killed her," Neal said coldly. "Now it's your turn."_

_"You're not going to kill me, Neal," Nicholas said, still smiling. "I'm your master. That would be an utmost betrayal on your part."_

_"I don't think you heard me right," Neal said through gritted teeth. "You __**killed **__my __**mother**__! I think that stings of betrayal a __**lot **__more than __**this**__ would."_

_"Where will you go?" he asked calmly. "You've got nothing, __**no**__ ties to the world. The government doesn't even know you __**exist**__."_

_"What?" Neal asked blankly. He knew he shouldn't give the man any feed, but he needed to know what he was talking about._

_"It's true," Nicholas said, clearly enjoying this. "You drowned nine years ago. Sad, really. The funeral was on what would've been on your tenth birthday."_

_"All the better for me," Neal said truthfully. He could get an alias, and no one would know of his previous life. He'd be a new person, have a new identity, and be free._

_He looked down at the gun in his hand, contemplating._

_"How do __**you**__ think you should you die, Uncle?" he asked him, using that falsely soothing voice that he always used on him._

_"How about right here?" Nicholas suggested in his other falsely sweet voice, pointing above his left eyebrow. "It's very poetic, really – don't you think?"_

_Neal clicked off the safety switch, jabbing the gun farther into his uncle's gut. "You son of a – " Then he stopped. He wasn't going to rise to his bait. Smiling sweetly and somewhat devilishly, he said, "How about I make you a eunuch? Won't be able to have any more daughters to love." He aimed the gun lower, staring into Nicholas' eyes._

_"Do it," Nicholas said calmly, though his eyes burned with hatred. "As your __**Master**__…I __**dare **__you to."_

_That cut bone. He was __**not **__master. He wasn't. But the thought was in his head, and his training was still there, and somehow, even after all of this, he still felt that loyalty, that devotion…and he couldn't do something that would hurt his master like that._

_Nicholas read the doubt on Neal's face and sounded triumphant as he said, "That's right. You can't do this. I'm your __**master**__, Nick. Now give me the gun."_

_Neal shook his head, new resolve filling his eyes as he said, "Nope. You've made three mistakes. I __**can **__do this, you're __**definitely **__not my master, and my name is not Nick." His eye caught on a piece of mail from the last guest in the trash can, and he said confidently, "My name is Neal Caffrey. And you know what they say: three strikes, and you're out."_

_Then, before another word could be uttered between either of them, Neal aimed the gun lower, at Nicholas' thigh. Then he pulled the trigger, and as Nicholas cried out with incensed pain, he calmly put the gun in the waistband of his slacks, at the small of his back. Straightening his tie, he walked out the door, leaving his past behind him._

_And now…it was back to haunt him. The door opened, and Neal met Halden's blue eyes – a mirror image of his own – as defiantly as he was able to muster, which was no small amount._

_"Ah, Caffrey," Halden said almost tenderly as he bent down, brushing a piece of hair off of Neal's forehead. "You knew that this day would come."_

_"I was kinda hoping you'd, you know, __**die **__first."_

_Halden only chuckled with amusement, patting Neal's cheek before he reached into his pocket, pulling out the key to the cage. Neal had tried to pick it before, of course, but Halden had put him in too awkward of a position for him to be able to reach it. The lock was behind him, after all, and his arms were in front of him._

_He felt an uncontrollable anger rise in him as he felt a hand on his ass, and he tensed involuntarily, memories flashing through his mind. But Halden only patted it sort of teasingly and then let go, chuckling with amusement as he unlocked the door and let Neal out._

_Then Neal tried to stand up, and was immediately forced back to his knees._

_"You forget, __**Nick**__," Halden said, warning in his voice, "That I'm your master. And you don't stand unless I tell you that you can."_

_"Fuck you," Neal spat, and got backhanded for the words. Neal stayed down, though he didn't lower his eyes like he knew Halden preferred._

_But Halden didn't care at the moment. "And now..." he said, crouching down to Neal's level, amusement shining in his eyes. "Your...__**re**__-training begins."_

**~WC~**

**Just out of curiosity, how many of you read this one instead of the other one? Anyway, I think that this merits a review...don't you? I know you want to. ;)**


	14. Chapter 13

Neal opened his eyes long after he had woken up. He'd been thinking, remembering the time when he was with Master Nicholas. After he had been re-trained to think right again, it had been so easy to be with the man. He obeyed, and he was rewarded. He was disobedient, and he was punished. It was really very simple, effortless. He knew exactly where he stood and what he was supposed to do.

But not now. Master Peter was so confusing – he never knew what to do around him. Diana Berrigan, on the other hand…now _she _made sense. True, she wasn't Master – or Mistress, as the case was – but she acted how a master should, how Neal had been trained to think. He was comfortable around her.

Neal was brought out of his thoughts by the shrill ringing of a cell phone. He saw on the bedside table that it was his own – or the one Master Peter had given to him, anyway, not that it was really his. He stared at it for several moments, trying to decide whether or not to answer it, but finally it stopped. He let out a breath of relief.

What he didn't know was that he _should've_ answered that phone. And if he had, what happened next probably wouldn't have come.

**~WC~**

**Wow. That was probably the shortest chapter I've ever written - even shorter than my oneshots. And it's such a tease and I haven't updated for like, a whole ****_month_****! I know, I know! But don't kill me. I ****_know _****what I want to happen - I even have it all planned out in my head. But I don't want this to feel super rushed, and I need ideas for stuff to happen ****_before _****what I've got planned! I don't know what sort of situations to write, but I want Neal to grow a bit more trusting of Peter. Not too much, but some, otherwise what I have planned won't work. Did I reveal too much? Please, give me some pointers! I want to finish this fic! ;)**


	15. Chapter 14

**Well, you wanted another chapter...and I deliver, don't I? Even if sometimes it's a little late...*cough cough*. This is more drabble than anything, though, but I decided that I had to warn you guys in this chapter: After this chapter, I'm changing the rating to M, because I finished the next chapter and it's another one of those "possible future situations, and I think after having one and then adding another...well, it's not "in between T and M" anymore - it's definitely M.**

**I'm also sorry to say that you don't find out about that phone call for a while - it doesn't even mention the phone call in this chapter, and in the next chapter I'm just wrapping it up right now, and as of now I don't think it will be included in that chapter. But if it's not in chapter 15, it will definitely be in 16! **

**Also, people keep asking me about one of my other fics - "Peter Pan Meets Houdini". Yes, I DO plan on continuing it, but I'm at a HUGE block, and I don't know how they should go about finding them/getting away without it seeming too rushed (that's a problem of mine...you can definitely give me advice, though!). Also, I'm super focused on THIS fic right now, because it's my closest to being done out of all of them and I know generally where I'm going with it. (Not so much for PPMH!) But I'm glad to see that people are concerned about it! I love fans pestering me! ;P**

**So...I think that's all I need to tell you guys...enjoy the chapter!**

**~WC~**

_The first time he tried to escape, he didn't get very far. He had drugs in his system after all, drugs that made him clumsier and slower than usual. That's how he missed the silent alarm at the window, alerting Halden to his presence before he could make it halfway out. But when the attic door opened behind him, he didn't pause, jumping out the window and latching on to one of the tree branches. As quickly as he could, he scooted farther down the branch, out of Halden's reach. He could see the man sigh in frustration as he turned and ran out, and Neal knew that he would be out the back door in moments. His feet were only six or seven feet from the ground - it would be so easy for Halden to reach up and grab him, yanking him down to the hard ground below. Then his punishment would be in store, if a broken ankle or wrist or whatever bone broke in the land wasn't enough. But like this, Neal knew that he wouldn't be able to land right __**and **__run away before Halden arrived. Normally, it would've been no problem, but he felt so groggy and lightheaded right now that it would be impossible without hurting himself._

_So he climbed up. Though slower, that was much easier. He could hear Halden stop on the ground below him, but Neal knew that he couldn't climb trees, so he wasn't too concerned._

_"Nick!" Halden called up, his voice one of warning. "You better come down __**right now**__!"_

_"Fat chance!" Neal shot back, though the words were a bit slurred._

_"So the great Neal Caffrey is reduced to __**climbing trees **__to escape?" Nick taunted. "That doesn't seem like your style. Come on - let's be reasonable here. Come down __**now**__, and you won't be punished as severely."_

_"No deal!" Neal called back, climbing ever higher. He winced as the wood bit into one of his palms, sure to be a painful splinter later._

_"Come on, Nick - you know you're not escaping," Halden informed him, though it was clear that he was trying to hide the impatience and frustration in his voice._

_Neal's vision was starting to blur, it was getting harder to breathe. He shook his head, trying to clear it as he called back:_

_"If you think that, then you __**really **__don't know me!"_

_He was getting sleepy, weak. He shook his head again, putting up another arm to grab the next branch. But he didn't seem to be able to make it any farther than that. The muscles in his arms weren't strong enough to pull him up, and his legs felt like Jell-O. Halden's words faded to a dull ring as he fought to keep hold of the tree. Through blurred eyes, he could see only his arm. He turned his palm upward, and saw an angry red welt on the web between his thumb and forefinger. In the distance, farther up in the tree, he could see a brownish sphere._

**_Shit, _**_he thought. __**Of all the trees here, did there really have to be a beehive in **_**this ****_one?!_**

_The next thing he knew, he was falling._

Neal's eyes flew open, and was met with a blurry face filling his vision. He blinked a couple of times, hoping it would clear, and was rewarded with the sight of Peter's concerned expression. He blinked again, confused. The air was slightly warm, wind blowing through his hair. What was he doing outside? For that matter, why was Master with him? He searched his memory, but all he could come up with was his dream, his memory of when he was with Master Nicholas.

"M-Master?" Neal said shakily, struggling to get up. Instantly a bolt of pain went shooting through his right side, near his ribs. With a gasp, he dropped down again, clutching his side.

"Neal!" Peter exclaimed with a definite note of relief in his voice. Then it changed almost instantly to anger. "Why in _hell _would you climb that tree?"

Neal's slightly unfocused eyes swept to where Peter was clearly talking about, which happened to be right above him. He could see a branch several feet up, broken and hanging off only by a few pieces of bark. He wondered how that had happened, and then wondered why he was wondering about it. Then he realized that he must've fallen out.

Well, that would explain his pain.

"I di'nt..." Neal slurred, gaze lolling back to Peter, "I-I di'nt..." Then his explanation turned to mumbling, as he apparently talked to himself. "I's s'posed to...to...ans'er M...Mm...Mas'er."

"Neal?" Peter said, his voice morphing back to that odd, unfamiliar concern. He put a hand on Neal's shoulder, forgetting that that was one of the commands that Neal had been taught in being a slave. "You still with me, buddy?"

Tears suddenly filled the young man's eyes as he made a frustrated sound. "I-I-I can't...get up. I's sorry, Mas'er. I-I haf to ge' up, an-an' I know you wan' me to, bu' I can't. I's sorry, I's sooooooo sorry. So soooooo sorry, Mas'er. Sorry sorry. I's sorry, sir. Sir, I's sorry. Sooo sooorrrry! Soooooooo..."

"Neal!" Peter said, trying to cut off his delirious combination of muttering and singing. But Neal continued, not seeming to hear him, even after several attempts at getting his attention. Finally, Peter chose the only other option he could think of. Choking back the arising sick feeling, he reached out and slapped Neal's cheek. It wasn't too hard, but it wasn't a pat either, and would probably be a bit red for a little while. In any case, it was enough to get Neal's attention, and stop his crazed mumbles. There was a look in his eyes, though, that Peter couldn't quite read - was that _relief_? That he'd slapped him? What in the hell...?

Whatever. Peter could deal with that later.

"Why can't you get up, Neal?" Peter asked, trying to remain calm so as not to cause the boy panic.

"I fell outta the tree there," Neal half-slurred, his gaze swinging to the branches above. "An'...an' now I think I broke my ribs."

Peter tried to keep his face passive, even though Neal wasn't even looking at him now. "Neal," he said carefully.

"'S not my name, you know," Neal interrupted suddenly, still staring up at the tree.

For a moment, Peter was so startled that Neal would go against his ingrained sense of slavery by interrupting him that it took a moment to process what had actually been said. After a brief pause, he carefully questioned:

"What _is _your name then?"

Neal swung his gaze to Peter, and Peter was startled to see the darkness in those bright blue orbs of his. They were empty, emotionless, as he said words that sounded like they had been said thousands of times before, like a memorized prayer, devoid of any feeling whatsoever. Where he had been slurring his words before like a half-drunken man, he now spoke clear and strong.

"My name's not Neal - it's Nick Halden."

**~WC~**

**So I have to go pack to go to California for my grandpa's funeral, so I'll make this quick: As I said, I'm going to my grandpa's funeral, so I would love it - and it would REALLY lift my spirits - if I came back and when I checked my e-mail I got lots of reviews from all y'all! And if that doesn't convince you...well...my sixteenth birthday is on Sunday! Maybe you could make all my birthday wishes come true and give me lots of reviews? Please? ;) You ****_know_**** you want to! XD**


	16. Chapter 15

**First of all, thank you SOOOO much for all of your reviews and well-wishes! They really mean a lot to me! I flippin' LOVE you guys! XD**

**So, about the chapter...this one really covers a lot of Neal and Shelby's previous relationship, but it does include one of those "possible future situations"...you were warned! Either way, I hope you guys enjoy it! ;)**

**~WC~**

It had been a week since Neal had fallen out of the tree, making it a little more than a month since he'd been found. Master had been upset lately, though Neal couldn't begin to fathom why. He kept switching back and forth between sleeping in Master's home and Ms. Ellington's, and tonight, he slept in Master's home. It was almost one o' clock in the morning, but he had yet to fall asleep. He knew that Master and Ms. El were asleep down the hall, and he knew that he needed to go to sleep so that he could go to work at seven, but it was so hard. His mind was awhirl and his ribs - four cracked and one broken - ached with pain.

He got up and went to the bathroom to get another pill for the pain, and after he went back to bed, it was much easier to get back to sleep.

~WC~

_She lied next to him in the bed, propping her head up with her hand as she traced the muscles on his bare chest. He lied on his back, his left hand under his head and playing with her auburn hair with his right. It would've been a nice scene, one taken out of a movie, except that both of them had their ankles shackled to the bedposts. Neal had been there for almost a month now, Shelby almost eight months. Neither one of them had broken under Halden's strict training as of yet, and they had grown to be friends._

_Neal turned his head and looked at her beautiful face as she talked. She had green eyes and soft features, but it was marred today by a stripe across her cheek from where Halden had whipped her for her disobedience. She had brushed it aside though, and had yet to tell Neal what she'd refused to do. It didn't really matter, though – she defied pretty much everything he told her to do. That was why she had a receding black eye and a fading rash in the shape of a hand on her upper thigh. Halden had been right; she was definitely a rebel._

_But Neal wasn't thinking about that right then – no, he was watching her face as she talked about her life before she'd been taken by Halden. Her eyes seemed to light up, her face becoming more animated, as she talked about something her and her little sister did the year before – some joke on her parents for April Fool's Day. Neal wasn't completely sure – he'd stopped completely listening a little while ago, too entranced by her that he didn't notice._

_Suddenly Shelby stopped talking, and looking up at him, she demanded, "Are you even __**listening**__ to me, Neal?"_

_Neal didn't answer directly, bringing his left hand up and gently pushing the hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She stared at him, a bit wide-eyed as Neal said tenderly, no hint of teasing in his voice:_

_"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?"_

_Wordlessly, she shook her head. Then suddenly her lips were on his, gentle and loving. Then, before either of them knew it, the kiss had deepened as they pulled each other closer, her rolling on top of him so that they were chest-to-chest. His fingers combed deeply and forcefully through her hair in his passion, and she wasn't any better in that sense. Her legs wrapped around his waist as they switched positions, him now on top of her. His hands moved away from her hair and to the hem of her tank top, tugging it upward. Their kiss broke only for a moment as the shirt went over her head, and then the warmth of their lips met again. His hands traveled down both of her legs as he pulled her closer to him, and she could feel his hardness right at the edges of her legs. Shelby gently, and then more forcefully, squeezed his upper thighs, massaging progressively upward until she got to his ass. Then her hands touched the waist of his pants, and she slipped her fingers in between his warm skin and the fabric. He let out a little moan against her lips, impatience bleeding through as she teased him. After a moment, she lowered the pants off of him, and he gave a little sigh of pleasure as his hard dick was released._

_"You're not wearing any underwear," she whispered against his lips, teasing and scolding at the same time._

_"No, I'm not." He agreed. Shelby could feel his smile against her lips as his fingers slid into the waistband of her Soffies. He gave a small laugh. "And neither are you."_

_"Touché," she said as he lowered her shorts. And then they were kissing again, pulling each other closer, if possible. One of her hands combed through his hair as the other traveled downward, finding his dick. She wrapped her hand around it, giving it a small squeeze and making him jump a little. Taking the initiative, she moved away from his lips and began giving him small kisses down his body. She put both hands around his waist as she traveled downward, kissing and nibbling and sucking. Her fingernails then combed through his genital hair, making him jump a little at the sensation. Still playing with the soft hair, her mouth moved down to the head of his dick, and then she was sucking it, putting more of it into her mouth as she went. Neal combed both of his hands forcefully through her hair, his back arching slightly in pleasure. He couldn't stop himself from thrusting into her as he felt his juices beginning flow out, but she didn't seem to mind. She swallowed them freely, and Neal's mind went unwillingly to Halden. Now he knew why Halden enjoyed it, anyway._

_Then he involuntarily stiffened – how could he think of Halden when he was with Shelby? Shelby was __**nothing**__ like Halden – she was sweet and wonderful and…_

_…and had stopped and was now looking up at him, confusion and hurt in her eyes._

_"Neal?" she asked tentatively, and he could hear the insecure note in her voice._

_"I'm sorry," he sighed a little. "Just a thought I had – it's nothing about you; I'm sorry."_

_She climbed over him and lied next to him. "What was it?"_

_He shook his head. "It-It's not important." She just gave him a disbelieving look, so he continued, "This…this sex – it's wonderful; I love it…I just hope that when Halden inevitably breaks me again, I won't use this against you at his orders."_

_She gave him a small, tender smile, and then planted a quick kiss on his already swollen lips. "He's not going to break you, Neal. You're too strong for his tricks again."_

_"The FBI thinks I ran," Neal said. "I was supposed to make it look like I had – I'll bet Peter believes it, too. But the point is, I came willingly. I knew, Shelby – I __**knew **__– that he was going to try to make me his slave again, and I still stupidly followed his orders without leaving __**any **__clues for __**anyone **__– not even Mozzie. He started breaking me even before I was back __**with **__him."_

_"But you've been here for almost a month, and I've been here for eight. It __**won't**_**work**_, Neal."_

_"It's worked before."_

_"That's because you were __**raised **__to think that what he was doing was right – that it was okay. It's __**not**__, and you __**know **__that now. I have faith in you, darling – you're stronger than you were all those years ago, and you're __**not **__going to fall for his trap again."_

_Neal gave her a tender smile. "I love you," he said honestly. Shelby let a smile tug at her lips._

_"Yeah," she said, leaning in to kiss him again. "I sorta like you too."_

_"'Sorta'?" Neal pouted with mock hurt. She laughed and pecked him on the lips._

_"No," she said with a smile, staring into his bright blue eyes. "I love you with all my heart."_

~WC~

As Neal slept, two bodies were dragged silently out the front door by a single man with the initials _N.H. _engraved on his cufflinks.

Several minutes later, a phone rang somewhere in the subconscious of Neal's mind. He flinched a little at the sound, but he just rolled over, sleeping on.

**~WC~**

**Dum-dum-DUM! Hahahaha! Awful cliffhanger, huh? ;) **

**I live in Arizona, and I finished the fic on my drive to and from California for my grandpa's funeral, so if I get like 8 or 9 or 10 reviews for each chapter here on out, I will update that much sooner...;) (There are going to be 23 chapters, for anyone who's curious...;D)**


	17. Chapter 16

Neal woke up happy, something strange for him as of late. But he'd dreamt all night of his time with Shelby, and he sincerely missed her. He didn't understand why Master Nicholas had killed her – he hadn't disobeyed; he'd done everything that had been asked of him, all the way down to letting that damn bee sting him and therefore putting him in anaphylactic shock and almost dying. It must've been because Master Peter had come and saved him from dying. Master Nicholas wanted him dead for unknown reasons, and then he lived at the very last moment. It was reasonable, he supposed, to get back at him by killing Shelby.

Not wanting to diminish his good mood, Neal shook these thoughts from his head, sitting up in the bed. The sun shone through his window, spilling across his bed and giving the room a peaceful, happy aura. With a small little smile – a rare thing these days – he looked at the alarm clock sitting on the night stand…and immediately his smile dropped.

It was nine-thirty in the morning. Pe-Master always made sure he was up and ready to go by seven so that they could get to work. Now Neal was two and a half hours late. Was this a test? Was Neal supposed to get up on his own to go to work and Master had just forgotten to tell him of this responsibility? He was sure that that's what it was. Now that he had failed the test – his first one, no less (what a wonderful start), – there would no doubt be punishment once he met up with Master again. Was he supposed to go to the office on his own? Or was he supposed to call Master and so that he could come and pick him up? Or was he just supposed to get ready and then sit patiently in the front room until Peter came home that _night_?

Having no time for this contemplation, Neal got up and opened his bedroom door, trying to calm his mask into that expressionless indifference. Ms. El would be home – she usually didn't leave until ten o' clock. She was probably in the kitchen, though he didn't hear anything from where he stood. In fact, the house was completely silent. Brushing this aside without another thought, he slipped his arms behind his back as he walked down the stairs.

"Ms. El?" he called softly, half so as not to startle her and half out of respect. There was no response, so he walked further into the kitchen. "Ms. El…?"

The kitchen was empty.

Confused, Neal turned back and walked up to the Burke's bedroom. Knocking softly on the slightly ajar door, he called again, "Ms. El?"

There was no response. Normally Neal wouldn't have gone in without permission, but a feeling in his gut told him that he had to. He stood at the door for a moment, battling internally with himself before he finally pushed the door gently open.

"Ms. El?" he called again, stepping in tentatively. He looked around, and for some inexplicable reason, his eyes were drawn to the bedside table. He tilted his head slightly in confusion at what he saw sitting there, and took a few steps forward, picking up the 5"x7" framed picture. It was of him and Master, both in suits and bowties, looking nice and formal. Their arms were around each other, and both smiled at the camera. Neal studied his image. He looked happy – honestly happy. He also had a sort of impatient but fond look on his face, one that almost exactly mirrored Pet-Master's, though Master's was more patient than his own.

_"All right, prom picture," El said, grabbing the camera and aiming it at the two of them as they put an arm around the other. "Say cheese."_

_Neal and Peter both smiled, though they were both ready to go. But they were patient with El anyway – they knew they weren't getting away without the picture, and they really had to go. As they smiled, both chorused, "Cheese."_

Neal jumped when the shrill ringing of the telephone brought him out of his thoughts. Putting the picture back in the bedside table, he answered the phone without thinking. But as soon as he put the phone to his ear, his greeting died long before it reached his lips, remembering his place. But someone on the other end was already talking anyway.

_"Nick," _the velvety voice said. Neal immediately recognized Master Nicholas' voice, and he relaxed a little as the sudden familiarity swept over him. But there was also with it a feeling under his skin, deep down, that said something was wrong. He ignored it though, as Master Nicholas continued.

_"I was afraid you weren't going to answer the phone. Of course, that was __**very **__wrong of you to use it. You should be ashamed of yourself."_

"I'm sorry," Neal whispered when he realized Halden was waiting for a response. "What I did was wrong."

_"Yes, it was."_ Halden agreed. _"But there is a way to redeem yourself, Nick. I want you to meet me – at your friend Ms. Ellington's house."_

"When?" Neal asked immediately, not even pausing to wonder why.

_"Tonight, after it gets dark. Come up to your room."_

"I will be there, Master."

_"Good boy, Nick."_ Halden approved. _"Don't let anyone come with you, or Peter and Elizabeth here will pay."_

Neal tensed at the mention of their names. "You have Master?"

_"__**I **__am Master, Nick," _Halden said sharply. _"__**Never **__forget that."_

"I'm sorry, Master," Neal winced at Halden's reprimand.

_"That's alright, Nick. You're just confused, and for good reason. It's not every day you are ripped so cruelly from your _**_real _**_master. But we can be together again, Nick. Just come here once it gets dark."_

"Yes, Master." Neal whispered obediently. It was only after Halden had disconnected the call that he hung up himself.

~WC~

Neal squeezed frustrated tears out of his eyes as he tried yet again to stop his fingers from shaking. He had been trying to dial one phone number – just _one _– for at least twenty minutes now, but every instinct he had was screaming at him to obey Master Nicholas and leave the phone alone. But he had to dial just one, and he had Master Peter's address book open right now, eyes never moving from the name that said _Clinton Jones_.

_6. 4. 6._

That was all he'd gotten so far as he tried to force his fingers to work properly and just _dial the goddamn number_. He rocked his body back and forth as he dialed in a _5_, and then it was another five minutes before he could get the _9_ dialed in. _Two more to go._

Eleven minutes later, Neal shakily pressed _CALL_, and then quickly pressed the button to put it on speaker, knowing that he would never be able to hold it long enough to even _start_ a conversation.

_"Hey, Peter. What's up? Hughes is a little PO'd that you didn't call in that you'd be gone from the office today."_

"M-Mister Jones?" Neal said shakily. "Uh…Master…Peter…he's not here."

_"Neal? What's wrong?"_

"Um…can you come over to the Burke's house? Please?" Neal asked, sounding lost and desperate. Apparently Jones heard the tone, and he sounded very understanding as he spoke. There was a rustling sound in the background, probably him getting up, and then his voice was heard over the speaker;

_"I'm on my way now."_

**~WC~**

**I updated the chapter the very next day after I did the other chapter...I think I deserve some reviews!**

**...Please? :)**


	18. Chapter 17

Neal opened the door as soon as he heard the knock. He'd been pacing the front room, something he hadn't done in several months. But he was worried. Yes; a slave worried for his master. It was an odd concept. The master was supposed to protect the slave, but now he was worried for Master Peter and Ms. El and Master Nicholas. Though…he wasn't sure who exactly was master now…

"Hey, Neal," Jones greeted, stepping in as Neal closed the door behind him. "You sounded worried over the phone. What's up?"

"I…I'm…I'm just _so confused_." Neal finally said, tears welling up in his eyes. Jones took him by the elbow and guided him further into the living room. Fighting against the instinct to direct him to the couch, he put his hand on Neal's shoulder and he immediately dropped to his knees beside the couch, not seeming to think about it or even notice. Jones sat on the couch so that he was right above Neal, Neal looking up at him.

"Now," Jones said, trying to sound indifferent, though truthfully the sight of Neal Caffrey crying made him want to enfold him in a bear hug and cry along with him. "What happened? What's wrong?"

"_Everything _is wrong," Neal said, in a voice that sounded almost angry as he swiped at the tears that had fallen from his eyes. "M-Master Nicholas called me on the telephone, and I _know _I shouldn't have touched it – I _know _it! I shouldn'a called _you_ either, because it's wrong, but I _needed _someone, and…and…"

"It's alright, Neal," Jones told him calmly. "Just tell me what happened."

"Well…" Neal sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "Master Nicholas called, and he told me to meet him, and he has Master Peter an' Ms. El. And I know he likes to play with people, but I don't want him to play with _them_, because they're…they're…" he struggled for the right words. "They're different. They didn't hit me, or drown me, or cut me, or whip me, or lie to me, or play games with me, or choke me, or leave me alone in the basement, or chain me to a bed, or starve me, or break my fingers, or shoot me, or tell me to sting myself with a bee, or make me stand naked in the front room for guests for a party, or make me have sex with them or anyone else. And I was _with _them long enough that – "

"Wait," Jones said, putting up a hand for Neal to stop his rant. Neal immediately cut himself off. "Did Halden break your fingers?"

Neal nodded readily. "When I was fifteen. I, uh…" he swallowed and glanced away in embarrassment before he looked at Jones again. "I was disobedient once, so I wasn't supposed to have food for two days. I went to the kitchen at night when he was asleep and took a saltine cracker. When he was kissing me the next morning, he tasted the salt on my lips, so he knew I had stolen it. So he broke my three middle fingers so I couldn't do it again. I never did. I learned my lesson."

"He was _kissing _you?" Jones pressed, aghast though trying in vain not to show it.

Neal nodded a bit slowly, not understanding Jones' distress and not sure if it was because of him or not. "He was my master. It's okay."

"Why did he pick _you_, of all people?" Jones tried to understand. "What makes you so special to him?"

Neal stared at him. "He's my uncle." Then his eyes widened as a realization struck him. "No no _no_! You're…you want me to say something wrong, so you can punish me! I don't – I – Master. Uncle Nicholas is Master."

Neal suddenly laughed, sounding hysterical as he got to his feet. "He's my uuuuncle, my maaaassster!" He laughed again as he began to pace the room once more. "He _trained _me when my mom and dad died, and I almost _killed_ him one time! That would've been _awful_, Mister Jones. 'cause he's my _maaassster_, _even_ though he _killed _my_**mother**_!" Another laugh. "Master killed Mother. _Heeheehee!_ An' then I even told him I'd blow off his _balls _so he couldn't have any more daughters! But I didn't, _thank god_, an' I shot his leg instead so he couldn't _ruuuunnnn_ after me! And then _I _ran – from the FBI! 'Cause that's _aaaalllll_ I knew how to _do_ was _steal_ stuff and _fake_ stuff! And it was _soooooo_ fun, Mister Jones! 'Cause I was _free_!

"And then Peeeter came along, and he was my _new _master! 'Cause I worked for _him_, _just _like I used to work for Master _Nicholas_! But don't you _see_? My _uuuu_ncle is _aaaallll_ways master! He _told_ me so! He knows what's best for me! He's jes' trying to help! Sometimes he hurts me, but it's _gooooooood_! Because I'm his _slave_, and I'm _supposed_ to do what he says! And when he told me that I had to meet him at Ms. Ellington's house tonight, I said '_ooooooooohhhhhh_-kay'! Because _I __**have **_to, even if I don't _want_ to, but I _do _want to, because if I don't, he's going to _kiiiiilllll _theeemmmm!" He laughed again, sounding completely unhinged as he continued with his crazed tirade, even as tears of frustration and confusion spilled from his eyes.

"He _aaalllways_ kills the people he doesn't like. That's why he killed Shelby! But that's also 'cause _I _liked her. I even _made love _with her, and even though I _aaaalllways _had butt sex with Master Nicholas, I _neeeeever_ liked it, and _he __**knew**_that! _Heeeeee_...was _jealous_!" He laughed again, but this time he didn't stop. He just continued with his deranged giggling as Jones watched him in a stunned sort of horror. Pieces clicked into place at his words, words Neal never would've said in _any _state he was in. Neal probably wasn't even fully aware of what he was saying, but was just blurting out whatever he thought of. And all of this confusion – his brain couldn't handle it all at once, so it was expressed in this crazed cackling. Jones had no idea what to do; how to react.

Finally, though, Neal's laughter died down to sobs as he crumpled to the ground, burying his face in the carpet. "He's going to _kill_ them, Mister Jones," he said in a much calmer voice, though it was also almost without emotion. Jones wasn't sure what the emotion was, how to describe it, but it wasn't anything like the Neal Caffrey _he_ knew.

"He won't kill them, Caffrey," Jones tried to say. "I won't let him."

"You can't come and make sure," Neal argued.

"No, but _you _won't be going anywhere, either."

Neal's head snapped up and his dark gaze bored into Jones, almost seeming to stare straight into his soul.

"I must follow my master's orders," he said it as though he hated Jones, which, at that moment, probably wasn't a too far off guess.

Jones shook his head, standing up and putting his hand on Neal's shoulder. For once, Neal refused to rise, his eyes daring Jones to make him. Silently Jones applauded him, though outwardly he kept his face passive as he knelt down to look Neal in the eye.

"Fine." He said calmly. "But the FBI is going to have you wired."

**~WC~**

**So...anyone else like Neal's emotional outburst? I did. You don't usually see him lose it, but I thought that it would've been the thing anyone would've done in his situation...yes, it was out of character, but that's how he is for the whole story, isn't it? **

**Anyway, the next chapter is CRAY-ZEE! I really want to share it with you guys, but I also want more reviews, so if I get enough, I can update tomorrow, even! Yes, it leaves you on a huge cliffhanger...but that's why you love me, isn't it? I know it is. :) More reviews = quicker updates! So PLEASE review! ;)**


	19. Chapter 18

**Okay, a certain person reviewed and told me that it was bad form to hold my chapters for ransom...I hadn't even considered that that's what I was doing, and I am so SO sorry, guys! Please forgive me I'll never do it again! :_(**

**~WC~**

Neal walked up to June Ellington's mansion once it got dark, his heart fluttering nervously in his chest. He almost knocked on the door, but then he remembered that Master Nicholas had simply told him to meet him in his room. Did that mean he _didn't _want him to knock? He tried the handle and found it unlocked, so he stepped in, closing the door behind him. But before it closed, he glimpsed Jones' car driving by.

~WC~

They were on the terrace; Master Peter and Ms. El tied up and leaning against the wall on the far side. They both looked sleepy; they were clearly drugged. Master Nicholas sat at the table, casually drinking some of his fine wine. Another man stood near the Burkes, and Neal could glimpse a gun under his jacket. He recognized the man, though at the moment his name escaped him. But right now, he had eyes only for Master Nicholas.

"I'm glad you came, Nick."

Neal kept his head bowed, arms behind him, as Halden's words washed over him. He smiled slightly at his master's praise, nodding his head a little in acknowledgement.

"Come here, Nick," Halden said, making a small motion with his hand. Obediently, Neal walked over to the man, dropping to his knees respectfully so that Halden was above him.

Halden reached out with his hand and tipped Neal's chin up to look at him. He examined his eyes for several moments before he clucked and released him. Still sitting, he bent over at the waist and rested his elbows on his knees, continuing to look at Neal as he spoke.

"You've deceived me, Nick," he told him calmly, and then reached out, loosening Neal's tie and then slowly unbuttoning the shirt, revealing the wires underneath that let Jones and whoever was with him know what was being said.

Halden stared at the wires for several moments before he took hold of all of them at once, ripping them suddenly off of Neal's chest. He took the box from his waistband, turned it off, and then wound the wires around it as he spoke.

"That was very disobedient of you, Nicky," he said almost gently, and put the box next to him on the table. Then, in a sudden movement, he reached out and slapped him, though not hard - more like how one would slap a disobedient dog.

"It was also very, _very _stupid." he said, though still in that oddly tender voice.

"I'm sorry, Master," Neal whispered. And he _was _sorry. He'd been very disobedient - he knew that it was wrong. He shouldn't have let Jones do this - it went against everything he'd been taught. "I must be punished as you see fit."

Halden smiled tenderly as he traced his finger along the cheekbone below Neal's eye.

"Yes, you must," he agreed casually. He rose, and then placed a hand on his shoulder, direction for him to rise. Neal stood immediately, though he still kept his head down with his arms behind him.

"Come with me," he told him, walking into Neal's room. Neal followed willingly, but the man with the gun stayed behind to guard the Burkes. The box with the wires stayed on the table.

As soon as they got inside, Halden shut the door behind them and then whirled on Neal.

"Tell me," Halden ordered, not mincing words, "Why did you come here?"

Neal blinked at him, surprised. "Because," he practically choked, "You told me to. I must follow my master's orders."

It was like the strike of a cobra as Halden's hand struck Neal across the face. Neal stumbled back, touching his nose where blood began to trickle out. He looked up at Halden, almost shocked as Halden spoke.

"Who did you call?" he practically shouted. "_Who _was listening on the other end of that wire?!"

Neal stared up at him, too stunned to say anything. But Halden took his silence as defiance, and in the next moment his belt was in his hand, raised to strike him. Neal's eyes widened as he put out his hands as though to ward off the blow.

"W-w-wait!" he cried. "H-his name is Jones. Clinton Jones."

"_Why _did you call him after I _specifically _told you not to?!" Halden shouted, raising his arm ever higher. "_How _do you know him?"

"I-I don't - not really. He knows Master Peter from - "

_Crack! _The belt came down fast, the leather snapping hard against Neal's raised palms. Neal jerked in pain, but didn't make a sound.

"_Peter Burke _is _not _your master!" Halden thundered. "_I _will _always _be your master - _never _forget that!"

Neal weakly dropped to his knees, clasping his reddening hands in pleading.

"Master! I'm sorry, Master - I'm so _so _sorry, Master; I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he blubbered.

"Shut up!" Halden ordered. "_Why _did you call _him_?"

"I-I was just so c-confused, and I'd met him a couple of times before, and - "

"Where did you meet him?"

"Well it was first at Mas-Peter's house, because they came over as a welcome back, I suppose - "

"Who's 'they'?"

"I-I don't know - some people from the office, I think - "

"_You went to a __**Fed**__?!_" his voice was much angrier than before as he raised the belt again. "Have I taught you _nothing_?!"

"Master, I - !"

What he said was cut off with a cry of pain as the belt struck his face, slicing his cheek and releasing a steady trickle of blood down the rest of his face, giving him a slightly ghoulish look.

"Nonono_no_!" Neal cried, pressing his palm to his face. "I-It wasn't an official - FBI - thing! He's - he was just - I just went to him as a friend!"

Halden laughed, a bitter, mocking sound. "You _fool_! You think he's your _friend_? You have no friends, Nicky - you've only got _me_. I'm the only one who will _always _take care of you."

"Then why did you tell me to let the damn bee sting me?" Neal shot back, the words flooding unwillingly out of his mouth. He tried to stop himself from continuing, but he couldn't help it. "Why in _hell _would you want me to fucking _kill _myself when you say you'll always take care of me? And why in the _world _would you kill Shelby - you knew that I loved her!"

Halden stared at him a moment before he calmly said, "You know the answers to all of your questions. Now...put out your hands."

Neal stopped himself from cringing. He knew he deserved to be punished. And why would he ask those questions, anyway? He _did _know all of the answers. But that made no difference. He shouldn't have talked back to his master - that was one of the worst things he could've done, one of the most disobedient.

So he put out his hands, and tried to stay quiet as the belt came down again.

~WC~

_Shelby looked up at Neal as he came in, following Halden with his head bowed and hands clasped behind him. It was the perfect posture of obedience, one that Halden had repeatedly tried to force her to use, but she had never succumbed to his wishes. But, judging by the fading bruises around his neck and the split bottom lip that had now scabbed over, Neal had apparently given in. She hadn't seen him for a week, and she had suspected that Halden was trying to retrain the ex-con, but she had had full confidence that Neal wouldn't be broken. Now though, seeing him…it appeared her confidence had been misplaced. She had seen him try and fool Halden into believing he was subservient to his will before, but there had still always been that spark in his eyes that she knew he was conning him. Now though, that spark was gone, his eyes empty._

_She watched warily, silently, as Halden came over and checked the shackle at her ankle, and then locked Neal's ankle to the bedpost in the same manner. Then Halden stepped back, seemingly waiting for something. Shelby looked warily at Neal, and found that he was staring at the ceiling. But then he rolled over to face her, putting both hands on either side of her hips._

_"I must follow my master's orders," he said softly, almost whispering. Her heart dropped to her feet, and a moment later, so did her jeans._

_Five minutes later, Shelby blinked back angry and embarrassed tears as she pulled her shirt back on, and then her jeans. Neal watched her, blank-faced and expressionless, though when she rolled to face away from him, she thought she could hear him whisper two words:_

_"I'm sorry."_

~WC~

Neal whimpered as the sixteenth and final blow came down on his palms - one for every three words spoken. Tears streamed from his eyes; his face was red and a little puffy.

"Who is your master, Nicky?" Halden said calmly. Neal sniffed, blinking back residual tears as he cradled his hands at his waist.

"You are," he whispered.

A corner of Halden's mouth quirked upward slightly, but his voice was still of doubt and warning as he continued.

"Good," he said. "Then you don't care about the Burkes, do you?"

Neal paused for a moment - a brief moment - honestly thinking about his question. But he didn't have time to think about it long, because Halden caught his hesitation.

"_Do _you?" he pressed, underlying warning in his voice.

"No, Master," Neal said obediently. "I don't."

Halden's face broke into a smile, but it wasn't a real smile - it was a smile that warned of coming danger. There was no joy, no happiness in those eyes - only cold, hard emptiness.

"_Good_," he purred. "Then I have the _perfect _job for you...for you to prove your loyalty, you understand."

Halden paused to remove the gun from the holster at his waist, and then continued, "I want you to shoot them...in the heart...with this gun."

Neal stared at the gun for a brief moment, and then took it from his hands. His face was blank as he checked the cartridge and then pulled the safety switch.

"Yes, Master."

**~WC~**

**...But I would still love it if you reviewed! :)**


	20. Chapter 19

**And, as promised, I didn't hold this chapter for ransom! Yay me! :) Thanks so much for reviewing though, guys - I DO love my reviews! And I forgot to thank the person when I posted my last chapter who gave me that advice not to hold the chapters for ransom - you know who you are! If you'd like to read her/his review, I didn't delete it, even though this person logged out so that I would be able to if I wanted to. I think I would've, but the fact that this person was so respectful in conjunction with the constructive criticism? Well, I admire them for that, so I left it there, but THANK YOU, to whoever it was!**

**And now, without further ado, here is the next chapter! :)**

**~WC~**

Peter's vision was blurry and dark as he opened his eyes. He didn't actually _remember _opening his eyes, but at some point he became aware of being able to see...or what vaguely _passed _as seeing. After that, he slowly became aware of _wind_. It wasn't hard, but it was just enough that he knew he was outside. That was confusing in itself, because the last thing he remembered was going to bed with...

Wait, scratch that. There was something else...

_Oh, shit. _He remembered getting up to get ready for work, and he'd been just about to wake up Neal when he'd heard a noise back down the hall. He'd gone back to his room, and found that El was not in bed. He had experienced a moment of panic before he felt the sting of a needle being slipped into the back of his neck.

Peter groaned inwardly and began trying to move. He quickly found that he was tied up, but he also found El sitting next to him, though her eyes had a glazed-over look about them, like she was high. He knew she would be okay, though - she tended to have a higher resistance to drugs than he did, and if he was okay, she must be, too.

So he began scanning around, and quickly realized that he was on Neal's terrace.

_Oh God, no._

If he was here, Neal would also be, no doubt.

_Halden. _The name growled angrily through his mind. He was a bastard for doing this to Neal - he hated the man, and he didn't take hate lightly. Why in _hell _would you train someone to be your slave - or even _want _to? And _Neal Caffrey_, of all people? Neal didn't deserve this. No one did, really, but _especially _Neal Caffrey.

As his vision cleared and the dull ringing in his ears faded, he realized that Neal _was _on the terrace. He watched as Neal knelt down in front of someone sitting at the table, and realized that it was Halden. His heart pounded as Halden revealed the wires under Neal's shirt, and he felt a moment of pride that Neal had gone for help at the FBI.

But that pride morphed instantly into dread when Halden ripped those wires off of Neal's chest. He seemed to be saying something as he wound the wires around the box, and then put the box on the table beside him. He cringed mentally as Halden slapped Neal like one would to a dog. Then Neal said something, no doubt an apology, and they went inside.

Peter strained his ears to listen, and a moment later he heard Halden shouting. There were brief pauses occasionally, and after a couple of minutes it was suddenly quiet. Then came some sort of slapping sound that kept repeating in rhythm, and it took a moment for Peter to realize that Halden was actually _beating _Neal. Anger flared up inside him, but then he heard a sound that made his heart clench, vanquishing his anger. It was the sound of Neal crying out in pain at each hit. The sound of Neal's pain actually physically _hurt _him, and he wanted to cry for the younger man, to take away his pain. If it had been possible, he would've done it in a heartbeat. Every other emotional pain he'd ever had paled in comparison to hearing Neal sobbing as blow after blow rained down.

Finally, the blows and the crying stopped, and several moments later, Neal came out, head down, followed by Halden. Peter watched Halden warily - he had a triumphant smirk on his face, and that was never good on _any _criminal, let alone Nicholas Halden.

But then his eyes wandered back to Neal as movement caught his eye, and his stomach dropped. Because in Neal's hands was a gun.

And that gun was pointed to his chest.

~WC~

Neal's hands shook as he raised the gun to Mr. Burke's chest. The man was clearly more coherent than he'd been before, though not enough to move or stop him from doing anything. Ms. El was groggily waking up, but she was still unaware of really what was going on.

"Come on, Nicky," Halden wheedled as he stepped toward the Burkes. He waved off their guard as he stepped behind them. "I know you're a _superb _shot - it's not too hard to shoot them in the chest. And you hate them, don't you?"

"Yes, Master," Neal whispered, tightening his grip on the gun.

Halden nodded in approval, continuing, "_Especially _Agent Burke here. I mean, he kept you on a pretty tight leash, didn't he? That was very unfair of him, don't you think?"

"Yes, Master."

"So let's make this come full circle." Halden said smoothly, grabbing Peter's and Elizabeth's arms and bringing them to their feet. The bodyguard guy came over and held to Elizabeth as Halden held to Peter. "How about you shoot your former handler here first?"

Neal nodded obediently, gaze wandering to Agent Burke. Burke looked...actually, he couldn't read the look on his face - it was something he hadn't seen before. The only way he could describe it was resignation, peace. Burke was at peace with Neal shooting him. And, looking in those cloudy eyes, he could almost read the man's mind.

_It's okay._

Neal tightened his hand around the gun.

Suddenly there was a loud crash from inside Neal's room, and a loud voice was heard, strident and commanding.

"FBI! Don't move!"

**~WC~**

**Hehehe! I'm lovin' this! How about you guys? Please tell me!**


	21. Chapter 20

**SO...based on the four or five people who reviewed for the last chapter, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that most of you think that this is all over, that Neal is back to normal, and the FBI arrested Halden.**

***silence***

**...HA! Neal's slavery isn't over - not by a LONG shot! I thought it was pretty funny when I saw people's relief, and then I felt mean when I remembered that THIS chapter leaves you at a cliffhanger, too! I'm just evil that way. XD**

**And, on that note, here is the next chapter! Hope ya love it! XD**

**~WC~**

Halden's dark gaze bored into Neal as the sounds of the FBI continued.

"Do it, Nick!" he ordered, shaking Peter by the arms. "Shoot him!"

Neal blinked through blurry fog as the terrace doors flew open and a dozen FBI guys flooded out, surrounding the five of them in a semicircle.

_"You make a difference. You do."_

Neal shook his head from side to side. Where had _that _come from? He didn't see anyone who could've said those words, so it must've been in his head. He refocused his eyes on Peter Burke, staring down the barrel of the gun as he aimed for his chest.

~WC~

_"No - we share the oxygen."_

_"Peter!" he cut him off, staring into those russet brown eyes as he spoke weighted words. "I trust you."_

~WC~

"Quit stalling, Nicky," Halden said impatiently. "I know you don't need this much time to shoot a target less than twenty feet away."

~WC~

_He was holding him back, reining him in as the fire continued before him. He cried, sobbed, as she was blown to bits right before his eyes. The heat flashed over him in waves, fighting against the falling snow._

_"NO!"_

~WC~

"Shoot him, Nick!"

~WC~

_"All the people in my life - Mozzie...even Kate. You're the only one." he punctuated his point as he poked Peter's chest._

_Peter looked like he was simply humoring Neal's drugged mind as he asked, "The only one, __**what**__?"_

_"You're the only person in my life I trust."_

~WC~

Someone was speaking to him, calmly, trying to talk him down, to give him the gun. It was the black man, wasn't it? He wasn't sure. He couldn't see anything behind the confused haze in front of his eyes.

~WC~

_"You ungrateful bastard! I have had your back since __**Day One**__, and __**any **__time __**anything **__goes wrong, I'm the __**first **__person you blame!"_

_"Because you're a __**con**__! It's who you __**are**__...and it's __**all **__you'll __**ever **__be."_

~WC~

"He's a bastard, Nick! An ungrateful _bastard_!" Halden was calling to him as he kept Peter standing upright. The FBI had guns pointed at the heads of all three of them, but none had yet been fired. Halden now used Peter as a shield; no one could get a clear shot without the guarantee of not hitting Peter or Elizabeth. The same was for the other man, the henchman. It was, in essence, a Mexican standoff between Fed, master, and slave.

~WC~

_"You did this. The fire, the warehouse, __**all **__of it."_

_Neal stared at Peter in shock. Did he really not know him well? He would never do something like this - __**never**__. _

_"Peter, those artworks were __**priceless **__- I would __**never **__burn them."_

_Peter shook his head with a knowing smile. But the smile was bitter, untrusting. "No. But you'd steal them."_

_Neal shook his head. He hadn't done this - he __**hadn't**__! Peter didn't have any proof of this. _

_"You don't know what you're talking about. I've never lied to you, Peter, and I'm not lying to you now. I __**didn't do this**__."_

_"I think you did."_

_Neal stared deep into Peter's eyes and saw no flicker of doubt at Neal's honest words. Peter truly believed that Neal was lying to him. He shook his head in disbelief. Even after he'd told the truth, Peter still thought he was lying. And that cut deep, hurt him more then he was willing to ever admit. "Then prove it." He was embarrassed that his eyes started to tear up at the sting of Peter's betrayal. He was angry too - pissed off that Peter would think so low of him._

_"Prove it!"_

~WC~

Neal shook his head to clear the fog from his brain. He was so confused by this barrage of memories that he could hardly think straight.

"Nick," Halden called to him again, sounding impatient. "Shoot him _now_!"

Wasn't killing illegal in most places? And if he shot an FBI agent, wasn't that even _worse_?

"Do it _now_!"

Clearly Halden didn't care about his well-being. He'd wanted him dead, and now with a half dozen FBI agents pointing high-caliber rifles at him, if he shot Agent Burke he'd be killed immediately.

"_Shoot _him, Caffrey! I am your _master_, and _you _follow _my _rules!"

That was true. He _was _master; Neal was slave. Neal was supposed to follow rules. He didn't always follow the _right _rules, and that was when he was punished. That was the only way he learned. He'd been punished by the government before, for not following _their _rules. He'd never shot to kill before, though.

_Well, _he thought, grip on the gun becoming sure. _That's changing today, I suppose._

And then he pulled the trigger.

**~WC~**

**Hahaha! He SHOT him! How about you review and tell me what a bitch I am? Just kidding. Just tell me how you feel, and if you're pissed off...I have accomplished my goal! XD**

* * *

***All flashbacks aren't exact script/actions - I did it based off of memory because when I wrote it I didn't have access to the internet to re-watch it, and then I didn't feel like going back and editing it, so I'm just going off of memory here. ;)**


	22. Chapter 21

**So, this is actually an extra chapter that I wrote after I'd completed the story, and it's really only because I thought of another way the story could go, when I realized that the way I wrote it, Neal could've shot Peter _or _Halden, and this synopsis could suggest anything. Yes, it's a very short chapter, but that's what fillers usually are...:/ What do you guys think? Should Halden die or should Peter?**

**~WC~**

"He's dead?"

"I watched him die."

"Damn."

"That's gonna be a _lot _of paperwork."

"How's Caffrey doing?"

"He's still in jail."

"That's not what I meant."

"He's a wreck. But that's to be expected."

"We have to get him out. This wasn't his fault."

"No shit. That's what half the paperwork is."

"Come on, then. Let's get to work."

~WC~

Neal breathed in deeply, savoring the sweet New York air. The traffic sounds filled his ears, and the sound of the man at the nut cart calling out down the road. He closed his eyes, pointing his face toward the sun. He could hear tourists laughing, taking pictures, and native New Yorkers shouting for them to get out of the way. A car horn honked long and loud, and several other horns joined up in chorus. Neal smiled. It was home.

"Come on, Nick. We don't have time for sightseeing - the Met isn't going to wait forever."

Neal's eyes flashed open at Halden's voice, and he glanced quickly around for the man. But there was no one even looking at him as he stood across the street from the FBI building. He'd heard his uncle's voice, though, he was sure of it.

But that wasn't possible. He'd been hearing Halden's voice in his head for the past three months anyway, when he was never there. It was just his imagination. His therapist believed he had PTSD. But that wasn't possible. Neal Caffrey didn't _get _PTSD, even after shooting his former mentor, even when he still wasn't completely himself. It _couldn't_ happen - no, sir.

Brushing all these thoughts aside, Neal stepped into the street, provoking car horns, telling him to get out of the way. Neal continued on with a smile tugging at his lips. Even with all of this new shit to wade through, New York was home.

**~WC~**

**Again, not too exact about what happens...it's just another tease! Depending on who you guys decide want to die, it could be anywhere from 1-5 more chapters to wrap that up...;p. So let me know! :D**


	23. Chapter 22

**Well...this is the last chapter! I'm not going to tell you who lives, because I like the surprise and all...you'll probably figure it out pretty early on, though. ;) Just wanted to say thanks for all of your guys' support, and at the risk of sounding cliché, I really couldn't have done this without all of you guys! But then, FanFiction wouldn't even be around without everyone here...food for thought...:p Anyhoo, hope you guys enjoy this final chapter! :D**

**~WC~**

There were cameras in every elevator of the FBI office building, and Neal had duped every single one of them at some point or another. It was surprisingly simple to do, actually, and sometimes he'd done it just to make the guards concerned.

Now, though, he stood in the center of the elevator, _wanting _the camera to see him. He was sure that someone was watching, and he wanted them to see that he was calm, normal. He schooled his face into that normal façade he always kept, eyes forward and hands clasped easily in front of him.

If anyone _was _watching, they would see that he was completely normal, but if a _friend _was watching, they would've seen the almost imperceptible twitch of his fingers as the elevator _dinged _at every floor. They would've seen the relief in his eyes when no one got on the elevator with him on all twenty-one floors. They would've seen the way he tensed a little nervously when the doors opened on the twenty-first floor. They would've seen the slight hesitation in his step as he walked out onto the floor of the White Collar division of the New York FBI office.

But no one _was _watching - stranger and friend alike - and so no one was there to see that Neal Caffrey was definitely _not _normal. Not even close.

~WC~

Neal sat alone in Peter's office, in the chair behind his desk. His fingers played with a rubber band ball, tossing it in the air occassionally only to catch it again. It reminded him of himself - doing the same thing over and over again, only to end up back in the same place. He always followed Nicholas Halden's wishes, and they always came back to bite him in the ass.

Neal put down the rubber band ball and picked up the photo of Peter and Elizabeth that was sitting in the corner of the desk. He'd seen it many times before, and it was clearly just a snapshot. But they were both happy. Of course, that was before Peter had even _heard _of Neal Caffrey.

Neal looked up at a knock at the door, and put the picture on the desk as the door opened.

"That is not your chair, Caffrey."

Neal looked up with a smug smile, putting his feet on the desk for good measure. He didn't have time to say anything though, because his feet were immediately shooed off.

"Did you finish your statement yet?"

Neal leaned over, picking up the stack of papers on the desk, and then held them up. "It's right here, Peter."

Peter took the stack of papers and flipped through them a couple of times to make sure that Neal had _actually _written it. Before, Neal had pretended to write it but had simply written down things such as biographies of artists and inventors. Once, he had compiled his favorite recipes into a composition notebook. Another time he had written out the entire history of potatoes purely from memory. The first few times Neal did something like this, everyone had thought he was just being a smart-ass, but Peter had been quick to realize that Neal just didn't want to face his past and what had happened to him. He'd gone through therapy, though, and as Peter looked down and saw phrases such as "would beat me with his belt" and "tied up in the dark basement for days", he knew that Neal had finally come to terms with what had happened.

Peter smiled at Neal's self-satisfaction. Neal looked normal, he sounded normal, he was acting normal...but he still knew something was missing. He had yet to figure out what it was, though, and was letting Neal pull through whatever it was in his own way. He certainly looked better than he had a few months ago, while he held the gun to Peter as Halden ordered Neal to shoot him. He hadn't been sure what Neal would do, if the instinct not to kill or the instinct to obey his master would win out.

_"Do it, Nick!" Halden ordered, shaking Peter by the arms. "Shoot him!"_

_Peter watched through blurred eyes as the terrace doors flew open and a dozen FBI guys came rushing out, guns up. He could barely make out Jones, who was shouting at the other guys not to shoot Neal. At least, he thought that's what he was doing. _

_It seemed that Neal was going to shoot him - his face had that blank, obedient look that he'd seen thousands of times before in the past month or so. It was a look of resignation; resignation to his fate as slave. When he had this look, no one but "Master" called the shots - he obeyed __**no one **__else. And considering that Neal's hands held a gun pointed at his chest, it seemed unlikely that he was going to get out of this alive. _

_But then suddenly Neal shook his head, looking very confused. His eyes darted around for a moment before he refocused his eyes on Peter._

_"Quit stalling, Nicky," Halden said impatiently. "I know you don't need this much time to shoot a target less than twenty feet away."_

_That was true. Peter knew it. He remembered when Neal had shot Matthew Keller while he'd been fighting for his life with him. He'd shot Keller in the thigh, and had torn a hole in Peter's pants, it was so close. That had probably been about ten or fifteen feet away, but his vision was also no doubt blurry from the blow he'd taken to the head. That was the first time Peter had seen his excellent marksmanship._

_"Shoot him, Nick!"_

_Peter felt a flash of irritation. Why did Halden keep calling Neal "Nick"? That wasn't his name - that was __**Halden's **__name. Something, some thought flickered in the back of his mind, and idea maybe, but he didn't have time to think about it as he watched Neal's expression change into one of irritation._

_"He's a bastard, Nick! An ungrateful bastard!" Halden was calling to him as he kept Peter standing upright. Peter __**really **__wished he wasn't so drugged - that way he could fight against Halden and stop Neal from doing __**anything **__he might regret. Neal's face changed to one of anger, and then confusion as he shook his head again. Peter wondered for what felt like the millionth time in a month what was going through the young man's head._

_"Nick," Halden called to him again, sounding impatient. "Shoot him now!"_

_Peter really hoped that after Neal shot him - __**if **__he shot him, that is - the FBI could get the gun away from him before he shot El._

_"Do it now!"_

_What was he thinking? Of __**course **__Neal wasn't going to shoot him. He may be different now, but he wouldn't go against the grain in shooting him - they were __**friends**__._

_"Shoot him, Caffrey!"_

_Weren't they?_

_"I am your master, and you follow my rules!"_

_Peter watched as Neal's grip on the gun tightened, aim becoming sure. Something hardened in Neal's eyes, and he glanced at Peter for a brief moment before he moved the gun ever so slightly to the left. It was only then that he pulled the trigger, when it was aimed right at Halden's one visible eye._

"Great!" Peter said with a smile as he closed the pages together. Neal stood up, still wearing his smug smile.

"I really am proud of you, Neal." Peter told him, clapping him on the shoulder.

It seemed as though Neal's knees had briefly given out as he dropped a couple of inches before straightening up again. Peter almost didn't notice it, but he _did _notice the way his smile had faltered, and that was when it clicked - Neal was still trying to change back to his normal self, to stop acting like the slave he'd been trained to be.

It was quiet for a brief, awkward moment, before Peter said teasingly, "Wow. I didn't know my own strength."

Neal snorted, relaxing substantially. "Are you kidding? You're like the Hulk." He rubbed his shoulder exaggeratedly. "I think that's gonna leave a bruise, Peter!"

It was later that day, as they walked out of the building to go home, that Neal finally pulled Peter's arm, stopping him on the sidewalk.

"Peter," he started. "I just wanted...well...you never doubted, or gave up when I was a little..." he made a circular motion with his finger.

Peter quirked a teasing smile. "What - the great Neal Caffrey gets tongue-tied? This is a scrapbook moment - I need a picture of this!"

Neal shoved him a little in embarrassment as they continued walking. "Shut up," he said good-naturedly. "I'm trying to say thank you, and you're totally ruining the moment."

Peter's smile changed to one of fondness. "You're welcome." He seemed to want to say something else, but deciding against it, just kept walking.

They walked in comfortable silence for several minutes before Neal said randomly, "He was just a senile old man."

"Pardon?" Peter said, having been brought rather suddenly out of his own thoughts.

"Nicholas Halden," Neal said as though it was obvious. "I don't think he really cared that it was _me_ though, that he turned into a...a _dog_. I think it was just that I was the first person that molded into his...training. I was just a trophy, you know?"

Peter was quiet, letting Neal just think out loud.

"I mean, who wants to give up their first trophy?" Neal said, clearly upset as tears began to well in his eyes. "That's like asking someone to burn their childhood teddy bear. No one wants _that_, do they? They'll do anything they _can _to hold onto it, if only a piece as it gets ripped from person to person...won't they?"

"Neal," Peter started, but Neal kept talking.

"Even if they only end up with the goddamn _button __**eye**_, they're happy, because at least they have some _part _of what they love. But Halden didn't even care to save the eye! If I had...if I'd actually _shot _you, the FBI would've shot me, and I'd be dead, and Halden wouldn't have paused to give a shit before he did something to get _himself _shot, too. Then I'd be in eternal servitude to him in Hell." His words had become bitter, and as he finished, a single tear trailed out of his eye and down his cheek. Neal didn't even notice.

"Did you know that I hear his voice?" Neal said rhetorically. He seemed to have forgotten that Peter was even there altogether. "Even with him dead, I still hear him ordering me around, and I can't ignore it. I don't really believe in ghosts and all that, but I hear him, and he won't _shut the hell up_. I know it's all in my head, but I _don't __**have **_PTSD like everyone thinks! I mean, hearing someone's voice after they've tormented you for two-thirds of your life is normal, isn't it?"

Instinctively, Peter put his arm about Neal's shoulders in a friendly, comforting manner. Neal let out a shaky breath, something between a sigh and a sob as he put his arm around Peter's waist, leaning into him as they walked.

"Look," Peter said after a moment. "El is making a pot roast tonight - why don't you come to dinner and we can talk about all of this there; get it off your chest."

Neal took a deep, calming breath, trying to slow his breathing back to normal. After a few moments he said, "Thanks, Peter. I'd like that."

They walked for a while longer, when Peter suddenly turned to Neal and said, "What I wanted to say earlier..."

Neal raised an eyebrow at him inquiringly, curious. Ignoring this, Peter continued, "Well...you thanked me for not...not giving up, and...well, I'd be a bastard if I just gave up on you. We're...you...well..."

"_Now _who's tongue-tied?" Neal teased, trying to regain some of his dignity after breaking down in front of Peter.

Peter rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. "Now who's ruining the moment?" he countered. His smile faded to seriousness as he spoke. "I would never give up on you Neal - for anything. And not just because you're my CI, and I'm in charge of you. I just _don't _believe in giving up on family."

A small, tentative smile graced Neal's lips. "I'm your family, Peter?"

Peter smiled back easily. "Yes," he said honestly. "Even Mozzie is. He'd probably be the quirky cousin if we were related by blood."

Neal laughed. "That's probably true," he agreed. He was quiet for a minute before he finally said, "Thanks, Peter. That really _does _mean a lot. I think of you as family, too."

"Like a father?" Peter suggested teasingly.

Neal smirked. "No. More like an annoying older brother."

"Hey!" Peter protested. "I'm not annoying!"

"You can be," Neal said. "But you're the older brother that's annoying and controlling...but in the end you're always there for me."

"I feel like we should be hugging and crying in the rain right now." Peter said dryly.

"A sprinkler would suffice right now," Neal agreed.

"Maybe we should drop by the grocery store on our way back," Peter suggested jokingly. "We could go to the produce section and get some onions to produce tears."

"And for the rain we could go to the misters over the lettuce and vegetables," Neal added.

"Sounds like a plan."

As they walked away through the crowded sidewalks, they continued to banter back and forth. There would be tough times up ahead, they knew, but it was just like Peter said: they were family, and family didn't give up on each other - no matter what.

THE END

**~WC~**

**So...you guys like the turnout? Let me just stop some of you right now with one comment: Neal's return to himself was not something sudden - it says it's been...what was it, 3 months since the terrace? ...And then the whole thing about Neal about to drop to his knees, that was supposed to suggest that he's been doing little things like that for a while now, but this is when Peter finally noticed it...and Neal still has a long road ahead of him. I just didn't want to include the YEARS of therapy someone would have to go through in an experience like this in here...too long, too boring, and too pointless. :/**

**So...I hope you guys liked this one, 'cause I'm also starting another story where PETER is depicted as the slave...it will literally _blow_ _your_ _MIND_! It's nothing like this, I promise...don't want to reveal too much but I do need advice...should it be called "In Chains" or "The Keeping"?**

**Anyway, going off topic, please review, for the last time! :)**


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